


Shadow's Veil

by OpheliaAlexiou



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Cross-Generational Friendship, Danger, Epic Friendship, Exploration, Female Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Violence, Infiltration, Jedi, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Mentor-Student Friendship, Mentorship, Non-Erotic, Obscure Canon Civilization(s), Original Planet(s), Other, Peril, Sith, The Force, mentoring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 106,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaAlexiou/pseuds/OpheliaAlexiou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unedited story of a Force-sensitive Bpfassh as she walks the path of the Light through peril and darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                As the doors of the admiral’s ready-room aboard the Victory I-class Star Destroyer ‘Indomitable’ slid open, the fourteen-year-old walked in smoothly, elegantly. The admiral was six feet eight inches in height, with blue-green skin mostly concealed underneath a naval officer’s uniform: grey-green trousers and a double-breasted tunic of the same colour, accented by a black leather belt with a steel buckle and durasteel-capped black leather boots. Nearly his entire body was covered, except his blue-green hands, neck, and head, the latter with four tiny, catfish-like tendrils on his face, two along each side of the jawline and a mane of six larger tendrils from the back of his head. As she entered, the two-hundred-and-eighty-pound man turned to regard the young Bpfassh who had become his apprentice with intense yellow irises.

                Her name was N’Lola Vurkoth, a native of Bpfassh and a member of the species of the same name, though it hardly mattered to the Feeorin Sith Master. She was five foot six inches in height, one hundred and fifty-five pounds of well-corded musculature, with light grey skin. Her eyes of dark violet were complimented by dark orchid eyeliner, eye shadow, and lip-gloss, each of which permanently applied in combination with the traditional black markings on her upper face, common to her people. A straight line of pure black under each cheekbone ending in a right angle up toward the inside of her eye and the base of her nose, narrowing into a point, and marks on her forehead that went first forward then angled down in the front of her forehead to make two V’s where the narrow points met. Her figure was lean and muscled, though her attire was of her own selection and fabrication: a one-sleeved shirt of form-fitting black cotton with no right sleeve and a slightly loose left sleeve of three-quarter length and ankle-length trousers of the same jet fabric. In accompaniment of this, she wore a pair of black leather shoes designed to remain secure whether she was running or leaping, with knee-high stockings of black cotton underneath, and a cybernetic black gauntlet on her right hand that went up to an inch shy of her elbow.

                Golm did not pretend to know what the gauntlet was for, what it was about, or why she had chosen such an accessory, and nor did he care. He assumed it had some basic value such as, perhaps, providing a communicator or a star-map, but that it was otherwise a purely cosmetic accessory. Golm had summoned his fourteen-year-old apprentice here for a reason, and that reason was not a social visit nor anything that could be considered imperially improper, he had a mission for her. He could see that attached to her belt of braided black leather, she wore the holster for the light-saber she had made for herself and had started to practice with a year and a half ago. Golm had never given her even a crystal, but one day, she’d simply shown up with it on her hip to continue her observance of him, she’d learned a lot by watching him, he’d never invested any effort in teaching her anything. Her power potential was considerable, and there was a possibility that through her, he could bring an end to the light-siders forever, getting revenge in the name of all Sith, and thereby becoming a legend, himself. He had immediately given her access to all the records on the Jedi swordfighting techniques, and had instructed her to learn how to counter each style.

                “Admiral Golm, you summoned?”

                “Yes, N’Lola, I have a mission for you. We have received reports of extreme criminal activities and rumours of a rebel presence on Tatooine. As an example of imperial might, you are to locate and exterminate the most militant criminal element on the planet and ascertain whether the rumours of rebel presence are justified. If you determine that there is a rebel presence on Tatooine, you are to ferret it out and eradicate the rebel vermin,” Golm instructed calmly.

                “Yes, Master. I shall ready a Delta-class shuttle, now,” N’Lola responded, and Golm smirked. He liked the calm confidence of her initiative, her willingness to go by herself despite the fact she was all of fourteen years old, but he held a hand up to stop her.

                “You will not be taking a Delta shuttle, N’Lola. I am placing a platoon of thirty storm troopers under your command to accompany you on this mission. You will be taking and piloting a Curich shuttle, accompanied by platoon commander Vedin Delk and his men. You will be expected to make all vital command decisions regarding these men,” he said, “Is this understood?”

                “Yes, Admiral, I understand.”

                “Good. You are dismissed. Exterminate any weakling light-siders you encounter.”

                “Of course, Admiral,” N’Lola replied coolly from the doorway, facing away from him, though her head was turned just slightly in his direction, “My enemies will never know what hit them.” Her words were icily calm, and of crystal-clear honesty, which reinforced Golm’s perception that he had chosen wisely: he had not been able to read her mind anytime he had tried to do so, but whatever her life story, she must have had some reason to hate the Old Republic and their Jedi.

                As she reached the hangar, she found that Vedin Delk and his men were already waiting for her, prepped and set to go, and a handful of mechanics had already readied the Curich-class shuttle ‘Regulus.’ The thirty men turned to her as soon as she arrived, and she strolled up to them without hesitation, stopping six feet from the armoured storm trooper whose white battle-dress included numerous purple markings, combat rifle in hand.

                “Board the Regulus, commander,” she instructed firmly, and the six foot two inch man nodded once firmly in answer and boarded the vessel accompanied by his men. Once they had all boarded, N’Lola boarded and walked down the aisle to the cockpit, turning and extending one hand, closing the hatch with an intentional demonstration of Force, before taking her seat. A few minutes later, they left the hangar of the Indomitable and immediately entered hyperspace as she set the coordinates for Tatooine. A planet on the Outer Rim, one that was rife with every manner of unmentionable personage and undesirable individual imaginable, a writhing knot of things the Empire needed to let amass in one place so they knew where all the worst people in the galaxy were located. At least, that was how it had been explained to her, at any rate, but given the Empire’s disliking for insurgents and resistance, it was believable that they were letting it all fester so that they could then destroy it all at once, at some point.

                As she piloted the Regulus down into the Mos Eisley Spaceport and landed, her platoon stood and readied for disembarkation, preparing their rifles for a hostile encounter. Once the Regulus settled and the ramp was opened, it only took seconds for Commander Delk and his men to disembark and fan out in a halo, creating a perimeter ahead of her. She walked down the ramp and stepped out into the dry heat of the desert city, and looked around for a moment, as it was her first time on Tatooine. N’Lola took a breath, before she then nodded to herself.

                “Commander Delk, have your men secure the hangar and that warehouse, there,” she said, indicating with a gesture the nearest warehouse to the chosen landing zone, “I am going into the city to investigate the reports.”

                “Ma’am, we have been instructed to…”

                “Were my orders in any way unclear, commander?” asked N’Lola, cutting him off icily as she looked at him sideward, out of the corner of her eyes.

                “No, Ma’am.”

                “Then secure the hangar and the warehouse, and wait for further instruction,” N’Lola repeated, and the man snapped to attention.

                “Yes, Ma’am, understood.” She nodded, then turned and walked away into the city, proceeding into the city by herself, unhampered by the two and a half dozen storm troopers sent to tag along for no reason, while being totally unnecessary to her task. Worse than that, had they insisted on accompaniment, it would have drastically increased the difficulty of her personal goal here, which was not the mission that her Master had given her.

                As she walked down one dusty road, she remembered the vast deserts of Tatooine where her mentors trained her for battle, though neither she nor they had ever actually been here in person…

 

                _“Remember, N’Lola, you will be expected to conduct yourself as Ricona, the name you chose for yourself in your veil as Sith Apprentice. You will need to walk a very careful line,” her Epicanthix mentor, Xuax, told her calmly._

_“Your Force Projection is becoming stronger,” observed the other of her Epicanthix mentors, Nuav, with a similar level of calm._

_“It is?” she asked, pausing in their swordfight at the indication of an abrupt pause for conversation, “How can you tell?” At their nod to the first question, she’d followed up with a second, before readying her stance for the continuation of their swordfight in the desert surroundings._

_“Your Force image has crisper detail, and a smoother consistency; it used to flicker when you first began to learn this technique,” Xuax replied, as he prepared his own sword. Then, without further warning, he attacked, with a lunge toward her, his projected image sweeping towards her own. Blades clashed without sound, as she spun around and blocked, learning the techniques of swordfighting with a real sword, to prepare her for the use of the light-saber._

_“You must also remember that when you use the strongest and deadliest of your skills, you must also change your expression, and use the Force Veil to conceal your inner calm beneath a shroud of false emotion,” Nuav warned, and as her match with Nuav’s twin continued, Ricona nodded her understanding in answer._

_“Your Force Veiling is becoming more efficient, smoother, more imperceptible,” Xuax praised, “We’ve been using the technique less and less to conceal your true nature from Darth Fralius. You are progressing exceptionally.”_

_“Thank you,” Ricona said, as she continued to fight with him, lucent blade against lucent blade, soundless clash after soundless clash, until Xuax managed to land a sweeping slice through her chest that disrupted her image for the brevity of a heartbeat._

_“Damn,” she swore calmly._

_“You are lasting longer and longer, your defensive prowess is increasing,” Xuax praised and Ricona smiled._

_“Thank you, you are excellent teachers.”_

_“Just remember, during a light-saber duel, you should use only the Force Veil to conceal your true emotions, to hide your inner serenity from your opponent. They must never discover that you are a light-sider, or your impressive potential will never be fully realized, and your path will end prematurely. During a swordfight, you should only use your more active powers when an enemy begins to use their own, otherwise, you should not need them,” Nuav said in an instructive tone, and she listened dutifully._

_“Of course,” agreed Ricona, and the Epicanthix assassin nodded._

_“Good. Our training today is over, someone is approaching your quarters,” Nuav said. Ricona nodded, and her pale blue projection vanished instantaneously, followed only a heartbeat later by the disappearance of both of the Epicanthix twins._

 

                “Well?” demanded a light-skinned man of five feet ten inches, with tan-coloured skin complimented by rosy-coloured fur in some places, angular features, and bone spurs on his jawline. His long fangs, his catlike characteristics, and his overall posture made his species obvious to her, and she readily recognized him as a Zygerrian, clad in dark grey clothes, a blaster-pistol on his hip, and three others behind him as he glared down at her.

                “Well, what?”

                “Will you come peacefully, slave, or will we have to first break you here in the street?” he demanded, albeit he made the mistake of blinking as she fixed him with an icy expression, unimpressed by his demand.

                “I am on imperial business and have no time for your foolishness, Zygerrian. Remove yourself from my path, or the consequences shall be… unpleasant.”

                “Excuse me? A scrawny little whelp like you, on imperial business?” scoffed the man with a laugh, “I think not, little worm!” As N’Lola looked at him, her right eyebrow slowly lifted and her tranquil expression began to shift to one of pure irritation. At the same moment, she veiled her tranquility behind a shroud of the same emotion as those facial features adopted, as her left hand snapped up in his direction. His body abruptly lifted off the ground, first just a few inches, but continuing until her hand stopped with him hovering three feet off the ground.

                “I said,” she repeated her words frigidly, “I have no time for your foolishness, Zygerrian. I am the Attaché of Admiral Golm, and I am here on imperial business.” She half-turned and whipped her hand through the air, and the Zygerrian with it, as she flung him at a high rate of speed down the street toward an alley, where he slammed headfirst into a brick wall with a sickening crack as his neck broke. She turned back toward the remaining three Zygerrians and regarded him with an irritation expression, and as their gazes returned to her, they broke and fled from her presence, at once. She smirked in traditional Sith fashion at the success, changing the veiling emotion from irritation smoothly into amusement in the process, remembering her secret training with the Epicanthix assassins. N’Lola found their own story interesting, but she appreciated that they had radically revised their plans when she arrived on the Indomitable.

                A few minutes later, she walked into one of the numerous cantinas in Mos Eisley, and walked up to the bar. She expanded her sensitivity, listening intently to everything around her, though it was not long before a man got out of his seat to approach her, noticing her odd attire and deciding to investigate.

                “Well, well, you’re definitely not from around here,” he said.

                “Perceptive,” she commented, looking sidelong toward him and extending her sensitivity more poignantly in his direction, “Who are you?”

                “Good news, that’s who,” he replied, “I can tell you’re the type who likes bad boys, it’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

                “Not at all,” she replied in a muted voice, with a tranquility that stopped the Human mid-action as he’d been reaching out to put a hand on the Bpfassh uninvited.

                “… than, why?” came the response, equally conspiratorially quiet in the noisy din of the cantina.

                “I have information. Information that might be of interest to the right person,” she answered in a hushed tone.

                “… what kind of information, and what kind of right person?” asked the man. She turned and looked at him, then looked around, spotting an open door. Her mind worked quickly as she regarded the scruffy twenty-two-year-old in front of her, and figured a plan.

                “Put your hand on my ass,” she instructed as she stepped close, and he blinked but obeyed the command, if more than slightly uncomfortable with suddenly being put into a deferential position, as she lifted up onto the balls of her feet, and touched her lips to his. Dressed in a ragtag collection of clothes with a blaster pistol on his hip, he blinked at the kiss as she took his hand and forcefully dragged him with more strength than he had assumed her to possess, in the direction of that door. She slid through it with him, shutting the door while veiling herself with the emotion of lust and arousal, before turning toward him and putting her back against the door.

                “…what the hell was that?” demanded the man immediately.

                “Nobody can know I am providing you with this information, there needed to be an excuse for why I brought you into the privacy of a back room,” answered the fourteen-year-old, looking a little disdainfully at the dusty bed in one corner. “Sit on the bed, make sure it’s making sound.” He sighed and groaned, sitting on the bed, which squeaked because of the low quality of the springs, and she nodded to him in satisfaction. She was surprised she wasn’t needing to use the Force to guide him into it, but the Human was willing to do what she wanted if it meant getting some kind of information that would have value.

                “And is that the first time you’ve had your hand on a woman’s butt?”

                “A woman’s, no,” he said defensively, “A girl’s, yes. What’s this information you’re offering?”

                “I know the location of a platoon of imperial storm troopers who can be readily ambushed. Start moaning, if you don’t mind: pretty sure you’d rather be mistaken for slightly perverted than an imperial collaborator.”

                “From what you’re saying it sounds like you’re more of a collaborator than I am,” he observed.

                “For all the distinction anyone would make if they learned you were talking with a Sith Apprentice,” she said in answer, and he blinked at her wide-eyed, “Start moaning.” He immediately started to moan, though it sounded more to her like he’d just been shot in the neck than sexual pleasure, not that she had any experience from which to judge.

                “Is that supposed to be pleasure? You sound like I just shot you in the face.” He blinked, then closed his eyes and took a breath, before moaning in a much more satisfied tone of voice, and she nodded.

                “Better.”

                “Now, where are these storm troopers, who are you intending to have receive this information, and how much will it cost me?”

                “Free,” she said casually as she stepped close to him so that he could hear her whispered response while still moaning in feigned pleasure, blinking as he felt a weird stir around him.

                “What’re you doing?”

                “I am using the Force to fool anyone outside this room into thinking you’re highly aroused and experiencing intense gratification,” she explained, “Who is the strongest, most aggressive criminal boss in Mos Eisley?”

                “Jabba the Hutt,” he answered softly between moans.

                “Would you like to have the money to escape Tatooine and weaken Jabba in the process?”

                “Yes, but why would I need to escape Tatooine?” he asked in answer.

                “Mainly because Jabba the Hutt will blame you for what happens and want your head, so you’ll need to get off Tatooine pretty much immediately after you deliver this information. There are thirty storm troopers, including a storm-trooper commander, split between Hangar 314 and the nearest warehouse to it. I need them dead.”

                “And what’s going to happen that’ll piss off Jabba?”

                “Whoever and whatever he sends will end up dead, because I’m going to kill them,” she replied, before then motioning to the centre of the bed, “Start moving up and down, make noise.” He obediently began to bounce his hips on the bed, creating a loud metallic creaking sound as if they were doing something else entirely. As he did, she started to jump and move her arms and legs back and forth, generating body heat and exerting herself physically in the process, earning her a blink in answer from him.

                “What are you doing?”

                “We’re having sex right now, as far as anyone outside this room knows. If we walk out and I don’t look like I’ve just been exerting myself to any degree, it will arouse suspicion.”

                “Damn,” he answered, bouncing more aggressively on the bed to suggest intense, vigorous sexual activity in the room, “Who the hell are you and where are you from where people are this suspicious?”

                “I am Ricona, apprentice to Darth Fralius,” she replied, “I am using the Force to create a field that suggests extreme sexual intensity in this room, if we don’t both look like we’ve been having sex when we leave, there is a very real chance that an actual Sith will come to interrogate you, and probably kill you.”

                “… so no pressure, all right,” he replied, beginning to sweat from both the vigorous movements of his thigh and calf muscles and from the fear of being hunted down and murdered by a Sith. He had certainly not asked for this when he approached her!

                “How am I getting off the planet?”

                “Hangar 314,” she replied, “Arrive as soon as possible, and if there aren’t bodies scattered around, wait until there are before you approach.”

                “… oh … well, that’s lovely,” he replied, between ongoing moans of feigned pleasure, “Please tell me it will not be too gruesome.”

                “No promises,” she said, as she continued doing the jumping exercise until her hair matted to light grey skin and her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, her cotton garments clinging to her. He was sweating much more than she was, as she reached down and grabbed his hand, yanking him to his feet. To his credit, she could tell he was not aroused, he was terrified and apprehensive, and she put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes calmly.

                “Do exactly as I say, and you will survive this,” she promised, and he nodded.

                “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied nervously.

                “Tell Jabba the Hutt that thirty heavily-armed storm troopers are primed for an ambush, and that he needs to send sixty soldiers to kill them. Tell him they are escorting a weak Sith Apprentice who has orders to kill him, and he will need sixty soldiers to compensate for the weakling. Tell him that you will give him their location for ten thousand credits, let him bargain you down to two thousand, he’ll feel like he’s getting a good deal and won’t think twice about it. You need to be at Hangar 314 before he learns his soldiers have been killed.”

                “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, breathing a little easier, though his chest was still heaving with the exertion as she changed the veil from arousal to gratification, as had been demonstrated to her by Xuax and Nuav. She did not totally understand these emotional sensations, but she knew how to replicate them well enough to convince someone outside the room that she had seen this random man, lusted after him, and taken him for her own adolescent pleasure. Finally, she moved back to the door and unlocked it, opening it and stepping out, hiding her tranquility behind both empathic and muscular masks of amused satisfaction, as he emerged behind her and tentatively put a hand on her rump again. She looked over her shoulder and up at the slightly taller man, feigning a playful wink; then N’Lola slipped clear of him to vanish into the city. As more than a few people in the cantina looked at him oddly, the scruffy young man was quick to get out of it as well, hurrying to follow her instructions for bringing information to Jabba the Hutt and making a good two thousand credits.

                A few minutes later, still slightly sweaty with the physical exertion of pretending to have just had sex, N’Lola entered a separate cantina with an entirely different atmosphere. This place was clearly populated by mercenaries, and she approached the bar, where a man was polishing a freshly washed mug.

                “Who’s the best merc team in Mos Eisley?”

                “Depends what you mean by best, little lady,” replied the bartender.

                “Fast, efficient, dependable, loyal,” she replied, and he immediately pointed towards one group in particular, a group of thirty-seven Barabel. Ranging six foot two to seven foot two, they represented the full range of the average Barabel, with long carnivorous teeth and black eyes, covered in dark, grey-green scales. She could tell it was a mixed group when it came to ages, some were unmistakably younger than the rest, and she guessed them at being sixteen to forty years old. Each one had a sturdy, healthy tail, armoured in light grey leather and durasteel, metal vambraces on their lower arms and boots with durasteel in the soles. Every member was armed with a pair of hand weapons having two serrated, curved dagger blades creating an S-shape, the curves themselves shallow and almost straight, as well as an E-11 blaster rifle. She did not know where they got them, and she didn’t care, there were thirty-seven of them, and they would meet her needs perfectly.

                “Hello,” she greeted as she approached them, and their leader and tallest member of the group sat upright in answer, fixing black eyes on her intently. She extended her sensitivity and scanned every one of them, and smiled just faintly at what she discovered from her examination of them.

                “What do you need done, little lady?” questioned one.

                “This is not the place for that discussion,” she answered, nodding towards a back room, and proceeding there with the leader and a couple of his chief underlings, similarly in the range of thirty-six to forty years. Once the door was shut, she turned and faced them.

                “How would you like to kill some criminals and take on a permanent, recurring paycheck?”

                “What’s the job?”

                “Unflinching loyalty,” she replied, “What’s your name?”

                “Zivvac,” replied the leader, “These are my lieutenants, Ketar Maire and Vindac.”

                “Your task will be to remain loyal to me above all others, your reward will be getting to kill some underlings of Jabba the Hutt, perhaps some storm troopers, and receiving an imperial paycheck on a regular basis. You,” she said, and they nodded slowly as they listened, “and every one under your command, both men and women, unless I missed my count.”

                “No, there are four girls and two women,” confirmed Zivvac, “This sounds like a permanent assignment.”

                “It is, and it would be a transition from mercenary to infiltrator. I am N’Lola the Lady Vurkoth, and as Ricona, I am the Sith Apprentice of Darth Fralius,” she said, “You will need to address me as Ricona at some times, and Lady Vurkoth at others.”

                “This sounds more like bodyguard work than infiltrator work,” Zivvac observed, “Not that it matters enough for me to care. We can do the job. Where’s the first mission?”

                “Hangar 314,” she replied, “It is going to be the site of two ambushes.”

                “Two?” blinked Zivvac.

                “Two,” she confirmed, “I came with thirty storm troopers. They will be ambushed by an attack comprised of at least sixty fighters in the employ of Jabba the Hutt. You will wait until either all storm troopers are dead or until all of Jabba’s thugs are dead, and then you will ambush the surviving group. Also, there’ll be a scruffy human approaching after that. Don’t shoot him.”

                “Why not?” asked Ketar, curiously.

                “He’s coming with us. He’s why the first ambush is happening,” she replied, “We’ll be dropping him off on Lessuris.”

                “That backwater in the middle of nowhere?” asked Vindac, “Doesn’t sound like you like him too much, Lady Vurkoth.”

                “It’s more that it’s outside the Empire and from there he’ll be able to get to wherever he wants to go next,” she replied, and the Barabel nodded.

                “Well, Lady Vurkoth, you’ve bought yourself some Barabel,” Zivvac said, “I won’t pretend to know what’s going on, because you don’t sound like any Sith Apprentice I’ve ever heard of, but then again, I haven’t heard of too many Sith Apprentices.” She chuckled a little in answer, honestly, and nodded.

                “Good. I will be bringing you back to the fleet with me as local replacements for the storm troopers that are going to die here today. Your story,” she said, “is that you are imperial loyalists who saw an imperial agent surrounded by enemies and felt it was your moral obligation to provide that imperial agent with reinforcements.”

                “For all that you’ll need them, Ricona?” asked Zivvac, and she smirked a bit in answer.

                “That might depend on how much manpower Jabba the Hutt decides to put on the field,” she admitted, since she had leaked information that she was there to kill him. It wasn’t literally true, but technically speaking, it might as well have been, since she’d been instructed to take out the strongest, most aggressive criminal element, which sounded like his fit the description.

 

                When she returned to the waiting Regulus, Commander Delk approached immediately.

                “Ma’am?” asked Delk.

                “My mission has been successful. A group of criminal insurgents will be attacking shortly,” she said, and he immediately shouted to his men to take combat positions in front of the hangar and the warehouse, and between them for defensive purposes. Crates were moved, giving them secure firing positions, in several layers back, as fourteen on either side took up positions in each of seven places progressively closer to her, while Delk and his lieutenant took up positions flanking her as she drew her saber. A low hum and the press of a button, and the light-saber’s cylindrical red blade emerged smoothly, scaling to her height as she waited for the enemies to arrive. She could sense their approach, and it was many more than she had told the man to have sent, though with her plans in motion, she wasn’t extremely concerned about that.

                A few minutes later, they arrived, three dozen armed men on either side, bearing blaster rifles and pistols as they charged into battle. They immediately opened fire on the defensive positions of the storm troopers, and began to exchange shots, as N’Lola stood on a crate in an open position, using her light-saber to block and redirect shots coming from both directions. Twisting and almost dancing on the high crate as her subordinates fired from their own defensive positions, she watched as storm troopers succumbed to the barrage on either side of her, dying slower than unarmoured enemies were dying by contrast. As her own group dwindled from thirty to twenty and the battlefield narrowed into a new focus, the attackers dropped from seventy-two to forty, with her own defensive actions. Her attention remained focused, her demeanour calm as she perceived herself unthreatened and unchallenged by the raging firefight, even as several more men in Delk’s platoon died in the gunfight. Forty criminal gunmen became eighteen, and twenty storm troopers became six, with one last position on either side of her, and more shots coming in her direction.

                “Reinforcements are coming, commander, hold fast!” she shouted down to Delk, who paused only just long enough to look up at her blankly before resuming firing. Even so, his commander’s armour was taking several hits at that moment, and soon the criminals were dead to their last, with only Delk and his lieutenant remaining below her. It came with a moment’s respite, before twenty more criminals appeared at either end of the alley between the warehouse and the hangar and the battle resumed, as the last two storm troopers fought to survive the ambush’s second wave. As she continued to redirect shots coming toward her, she whipped around and tapped the gauntlet, activating the crystal hidden inside, which even Admiral Golm didn’t know about. Blasts from the criminals jolted her gauntlet as Delk and his lieutenant died on the ground below her six-foot perch, while her light-saber whipped about to deflect shots from the remaining twenty-four fighters, focused utterly on her.

                Right on cue, her Barabel reinforcements arrived, and ambushed the enemy fighters from behind, killing the lot of them in seconds. They were in positions that made it hard for her to kill them, but which exposed the rear flanks of both teams, and made those two dozen unlawful militants little more than fish in a barrel to Barabel reinforcements, who smirked as they stepped in and looked up at her.

                “You know it’s kind of impressive that you managed to stay alive with forty men shooting at three targets,” Zivvac observed, “Do you require assistance coming down, Lady Vurkoth?”

                “No,” she replied before leaping from a standstill, moving forward as her legs whipped forward as well, with a Force-assisted somersault that brought her down to land in front of them as if it were the simplest and most natural movement imaginable. She straightened her shirt, pressed the button on her light-saber and then her armoured gauntlet, disabling the blade and power-shield, then turned her attention toward the Barabel soldiers.

                “Thank you for your timely assistance, citizens,” she continued, to pad the memories they would have in the event that Admiral Golm decided to read their minds and scan their memories. It would be better for him to find some memories but not all: being unable to read them entirely would undoubtedly make him suspicious.

                “It was an honour to provide assistance to an agent of our glorious and noble Empire, your Ladyship. Would you prefer my team and I to continue to provide you with secure escort? Your storm troopers seem to have been slain.”

                “Your proposal is acceptable,” she replied, with a smile for the sake of memories, feigning the appreciation to be expected from an imperial agent under a considerably heavy assault. As they approached the landing pad, N’Lola saw that the scruffy-bearded twenty-two-year-old was nowhere to be seen but she could sense his presence nearby, in addition to soon hearing his voice.

                “My Lady?” called the young man.

                “Come, the battle is over,” she replied, and he quickly appeared from a hiding place behind some crates and approached, halting with a startled response as he saw the Barabel.

                “Thank you, my Lady,” said the man as he approached her.

                “The Empire thanks you, citizen. You have done your Empire a great service in aiding in weakening the most potent criminal element on Tatooine. For your safety, we will relocate you to the planet of Lessuris, from which you may then return to the Empire wherever you please, and you will be handsomely rewarded.”

                “Thank you, my Lady. I am sorry, I forgot to introduce myself when we met, my name is Kalo Arkath,” said the twenty-two-year-old, focusing bright green irises on her and bowing politely.

                “It is all right, I did not introduce myself, either, save but to say that I was on imperial business. My name is N’Lola Vurkoth,” she answered, “Please, step aboard the shuttle.” Kalo nodded and immediately boarded, where she followed him, and the soldiers then proceeded aboard behind her, taking seats while holstering their weapons once the ramp was closed and the shield was active. A few minutes later, they were racing out of the atmosphere at high speed, and then entering Hyperspace to head for Lessuris.

                “My Lady, my name is Zivvac, these are my lieutenants, Vindac and Ketar Maire,” Zivvac introduced himself in continuance of the intended ruse, “May I ask my Lady a question?”

                “You may, Captain Zivvac,” she replied, carefully piloting the shuttle through Hyperspace.

                “Our passenger, who is he?”

                “An incredibly handsome and impressively well-endowed man I met in a cantina, he provided key assistance in luring a large number of Jabba’s human fighters into my ambush,” she replied. Through her sensitivity, she could sense Kalo blushing in response to the unexpected flattery, and could feel a stark resolve building in him to seek out the rebels, with whom he assumed she was associated. In technicality, she wasn’t associated with them, but given that she had her own reasons for being an enemy of the Empire, she would have been part of the rebel forces if she hadn’t managed to trick a Sith Lord into taking her as an apprentice.

                “Understood, Ma’am,” replied Zivvac, returning to where he had been seated before, assuming that she was lying about the tryst, but surprised she would give a man the benefit of being called well-endowed by a Sith-maiden.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                As the Regulus approached the planet Lessuris, N’Lola slowed to a halt in a median orbit and then rose from her seat, turning to walk into the rear cabin and stop standing directly in front of Kalo Arkath.

                “Yes, my Lady?”

                “Come with me, citizen,” she replied. He stood, and followed her immediately into another part of the shuttle. When she indicated for him to sit down at a small table meant for eating aboard the one-hundred-and-seventy-seven-foot shuttle, he did so without hesitation, though somewhat apprehensive. She stepped up and sat on the edge of that table, directly in front of him, and he blinked as he looked up at her, he’d always played the bad boy, but the truth was that he’d never been the person he’d feigned to be on Tatooine. It was really just a survival mechanism once he found himself stuck in Mos Eisley for a few years with no way off that dusty, arid rock.

                “N’Lola, what are you…” asked as she lifted her hands toward him, then trailing off as he felt a strange and semi-familiar sensation in his head and realized she was using the Force for something.

                “I am implanting two false memories in your mind,” she said, answering the intended question.

                “Wait, you can do that? You can make up fake memories?”

                “Yes, it’s a trick called False Memory. If a true dark-sider searches you out, they will probably use a power of the dark side of the Force called Memory Walk, it’s a form of torture,” she said informatively, “I am providing you with two layers of protection against that. First, I am implanting two memories in your mind and locking them to your memories of the actual events. By the way, we’re having sex right now, just so you know.”

                “… do I need to be physically exhausted after this?”

                “No, we’re on a safe ship, the memory I am implanting is of a quick but relaxed tryst.”

                “Well, that’s good to know,” he breathed the words in a sigh of relief, “Wait, two layers of protection?”

                “Yes, the false memories are just the first layer. If some dark-sider uses Memory Walk on you and searches your mind for our interactions, they will see three memories. First, us having sex in the back room of a cantina while I recruit you for a mission, the real memory from the hangar, and lastly a memory of us having sex instead of seeing a memory of us having this conversation. The second layer is a trap: if they look at either of the memories of the two of us having sex, they will be hit by a backlash of Force power that I am investing in the trap right now.”

                “What if they look at both memories?”

                “If they’re weak, it’ll probably kill them,” she observed as she sat in front of him, a palm hovering to either side of his head about four inches from one temple or the other. He blinked at her answer, suddenly even more thankful that he was not a Force-user, himself, and had absolutely no sensitivity to it, whatsoever.

                “So, um… N’Lola… I mean, Lady Vurkoth…”

                “You may call me N’Lola. What is it?”

                “You told those mercs I’m well-endowed,” he said, biting his lower lip as a faint hint of rose coloured across his pale pink cheeks, “Is there any way I should describe your body if someone asks?”

                “If you brag about my body, I’ll kill you,” she said seriously, then smirked a little bit as his muscles tensed, “Relax, I’m kidding. Tell them I am quite curvaceous but that a gentleman does not talk about a young woman’s body in that way and that the best you can offer is to tell them how tall I am, the colour of my skin, and my facial markings.” He breathed a sigh of relief anew.

                “You have a dark sense of humour, N’Lola… that wasn’t funny,” he said, taking another deep breath as he watched her scoot back across the table and drop off the other side onto the bench, then stand up.

                “I guess it depends on your perspective,” she replied, “By the way, you will remember the actual events of this experience and our first meeting, and will be unable to see the memories I’ve implanted I n your mind unless or until a dark-sider attempts to scan for them.”

                “Thank you.”

                “You are quite welcome. Here,” she said, tossing a leather pouch on the table, “Your reward for assisting me in my mission. It’s three thousand credits, to further ensure you are able to get safely off Lessuris once we are gone, to relocate to whatever part of the Empire you wish – or any planet outside the Empire, for that matter.”

                “Thank you, that is… more than generous. Do you… have any suggestions for where I should go?”

                “Somewhere inside the Empire,” she said, “If you leave the Empire to go live in another spatial sector, you’ll be at greater risk and it will rouse suspicions when an imperial loyalist uses an imperial reward to leave the Empire.”

                “Greater risk?” asked Kalo.

                “If you remain in the Empire, you’ll be regarded for assisting me as an imperial loyalist, and therefore you’ll receive a small degree of imperial protection wherever you go. Your imperial citizen file will reflect you’ve aided an imperial agent on Tatooine. If you leave the Empire, it increases the possibility that someone will come looking for you, including and especially dark-siders who are imperial agents. There are, however, a few places where you would be safe from both the Empire and Jabba the Hutt.”

                “There are?”

                “The planet Sarkhai, assuming you don’t mind living in a forest,” she replied, before leading him back to the rear cabin where the Barabel were sitting. Then, one by one, she took them into the lunchroom, fabricating memories in them to reinforce her account of the sequence of events on Tatooine, and since then, implanting memories in each of them of overhearing a tryst with Kalo. Once she was done, she erased from their mind the memory of the last few minutes and replaced it with additional moments of quietly sitting in the rear cabin waiting to land on Lessuris.

                Finally, Force-exhausted and in need of rest, she brought the ship down into a spaceport of Lessuris, whereon she commanded several rooms at the nearest hotel in the spaceport. She remained awake long enough to watch Kalo leave the planet on a shuttle bound for destination unknown, and then took her rest, under the armed guard of her new Barabel soldiers, her own personal loyalists. The Fleet had a crew of one hundred twenty-four thousand two hundred and seventy individuals at minimum, of whom almost none were loyal to her, but now, she had thirty-seven more loyalists of her own, in addition to Nuav and Xuax. Likewise, there were thirty fewer imperial or Golm-loyalists for her to be worried about when she returned, since they were now corpses on Tatooine.

 

                _Fire and smoke filled her vision as the twelve-year-old woke in her bed with a start, though that was not what had woken her. There was fire in the hallway, smoke billowing out of shattered windows, though the fire had not yet reached her room, and neither the smoke nor flame were what woke her. She sensed something completely unfamiliar, something utterly dissimilar from all she had known before._

_She could no longer feel the presence of her family, a long line of guileless, unsophisticated country-dwellers, farmers and foragers only. For hundreds of years, her family had lived on this remote outskirt of the city, foraging in the nearby woods and maintaining elaborate agricultural gardens. They lived in one of the lusher, greener sections of the planet Bpfassh, though it was an arid planet with broad expanses of barren desert. Even the inability to sense the presence of her family was not what had woken her, however. Fear, wrath, and hatred, so powerful it roused her from a dead sleep, origins unknown but origins irrelevant: she had known only the more pleasant aspects of her Force sensitivity up until this point, only the gentler and kinder emotions. Tranquility, happiness, comfort, love, things now lost in the burning ruin of the homestead as the twelve-year-old walked carefully through the house in an attempt to escape the wreckage._

_First, though, she checked other rooms, the rooms of her younger brother and her elder sister, both of which presently empty. She had used the Force before, though she knew not what it was, and now she used it to smother the fire in her path. As she neared the front door of the home, with a shout of horrified disbelief, she found the bodies of her ten-year-old brother and fifteen-year-old sister. It wasn’t the fire that had killed them, her sister had died guarding her brother, but something had caused fatal injuries to both: their bodies were not whole, were not in a single unified piece. They had been murdered by some manner of weapon capable of shearing through flesh like a hot knife through a bowl of melted butter. As she neared the front door, she heard the sound of battle, felt the surge of rage, hatred, and power-lust bombarding her senses, and instinctively closed herself off from them. She stumbled through the front door, and stared in horror at the apocalyptic scene that she beheld._

_Her mother and father lay dead, just ahead of her, dead from what were unmistakably a few hundred gunshot wounds from blaster rifles and pistols. Ahead of that, two men and a woman in strange robes of different colours: one white with pale brown, another white with pale grey, and the woman in white and pale green. They were human, and unknown to her, though she recognized humans when she saw them, having grown up in the Galactic Empire, where humans were the most prevalent species. Past that, more than two hundred imperial Storm Troopers lay dead, their blaster rifles and pistols clutched in a death grip. Beyond even this, however, was where the action still unfolded, one man clothed in black robes lying dead from a searing wound that had cut his body in half, and three more black-robed men standing in a hostile triangle. Each hooded and robed, each armed with strange weapons of bright, luminescent vermilion that they held and wielded like a sword._

_A low hum came as each contained beam slammed into another, clashing with a flare of power against each other as the three men vied for supremacy on this smoldering battlefield. One with his back toward her, two facing in at him and each other simultaneously, one of them managing to knock a weapon out of the nearest one’s hands. The weapon whipped through the air towards her with a low hum; one of the men dropped his own weapon and jerked his hand out toward her, and the weapon stopped just four feet from her. At the momentary distraction, the disarmed man with his back toward her jerked his hand up, lightning arced out of his palm and slammed into the man who stopped the luminous weapon from reaching her. It hovered a moment as the man was hit by lightning, before moving away from her in a sharp whip that carried it back towards the group. Even as the lightning crackled, the blade slammed into the one with his back toward her, cleaving him in half and leaving the other one badly scarred by the electricity. A moment later, the third whirled around and fatally impaled the lightning-scarred second, and the second slumped dead against the earth._

_The last man deactivated his weapons and holstered them on his hips, turning toward her and walking in her direction slowly, smoothly._

_“I am Darth Fralius, child. These three were murderers, Jedi who came to kill your family and destroy all that you knew to make you their padawan, a Jedi word for slave,” the blue-green-skinned Feeorin said. N’Lola looked up at him, and she knew him at once for a liar, because even though she had never seen a dead body or a battlefield, common sense told her that the positions of the bodies refuted his account._

_“I am a servant of the Empire, my men and I came to save you, but we were too late to save your family. As my ships arrived, your home was already ablaze, your family already murdered,” continued the Feeorin’s lie, “I lost many men, but it is worth it to save you from these three rebel Sith and these murderous Jedi slavers.”_

_“Thank you,” she replied, deciding to give him the answer that he wanted, the answer he expected, a blind acceptance of his account._

_“I will train you as my apprentice, I will teach you to hone your power, and then you will never again be at risk of becoming the victim of rebel savagery or Jedi slavers,” continued Fralius, “What is your name?”_

_“I am N’Lola Vurkoth,” she answered, continuing to give him the reaction he desired, soon boarding with him a shuttle large enough to have carried all of the storm troopers that now lay dead around her ruined family home. She could tell a lie when she heard one, and she knew everything he had just said to her was a complete falsification of what had actually occurred here. She had never seen a Jedi before, had never heard the word Jedi or padawan for that matter, but she knew that whatever they were, Jedi were not slavers and padawans were not slaves. This she was sure of, because Fralius was lying when he said that they were._

 

                N’Lola gasped as she woke with the sunrise on Lessuris pouring through the hotel window, sitting up at once and straightening her clothes. She hadn’t thought about the night of the massacre of her family for over a year, but the memory was as fresh as ever as she woke from the dream of remembrance. As she woke, she quickly proceeded into the hotel room’s bathroom, bathing and washing up, then redressing and emerging to discover her Barabel had already prepared themselves and were simply eating breakfast. She joined them coolly, pushing the dream from her mind, and within an hour they had boarded the Regulus anew, entered hyperspace, and were on their way back to the Indomitable.

                The admiral had explained everything to her, when he brought her safely back to the Indomitable, the duality of their names, the timing and circumstances for the use of different names. On her return to the ship, she immediately provided her report, though she knew he planned to interview or interrogate every member of the Barabel crew she’d brought back. As soon as she was done with her report, she retired to her personal quarters, extended her senses, and connected with Nuav and Xuax, informing them of what was happening and instructing them in what she needed from them. Between the three of them, they covered each Barabel in sequence with a partial Force Veil as Admiral Golm’s interview proceeded, even as he used Memory Walk to examine them more closely. For days, he examined each one, before deciding that they were imperial loyalists and as long as he had Palpatine’s tacit approval as admiral, the troupe of Barabel would be no threat to him.

                One morning when she woke, she sensed a weird shift in the attitude of a small portion of the ship’s soldiers toward her, more specifically amongst the storm troopers. As she walked to one of the ship’s shower-halls, she sensed that there were others nearby, almost following her except not quite so. She stood in the hall for a moment, waiting as a few men inside finished bathing and left, jumping a bit when the young woman was outside the bathing room, before quickly hurrying on about their way. It was best for them that they not dally, after all, when the admiral’s attaché was standing right there to observe you in the act. As a few other men approached, she held her hand up toward them, and they stopped instantly at sight of the only young woman, indeed the only female, on the entire ship.

                “Find another shower-hall, I am using this one,” she instructed, and the handful of men nodded and quickly turned around, hurrying away from her down the corridor, though she could sense others drawing nearer. She sensed more purpose in them, and darker intent, but she decided to disregard it, because she needed to bathe. N’Lola entered the bathing hall, proceeding through the first room, where she intentionally removed her light saber and her gauntlet, lying them on a counter amid the sinks for washing hands and brushing teeth. She set down her small black bag, which contained her morning hygiene tools, beside these, then proceeded to a room with towels and benches. There N’Lola undressed and took a plain white towel, then proceeded into the showers. Even as she bathed, she sensed those same men drawing steadily nearer, tentatively nearer, and she could hear them as they spoke with one another, as if their voices were amplified and the shower was muted.

                “Are you sure about this, commander?”

                “That little bitch killed Delk and his men, there’s no way a few paltry criminals overwhelmed someone that was as good as Delk,” replied the commander, dressed in his casual uniform, as opposed to battle dress, like the rest of his platoon, “we’re going to… elicit a confession that she killed them, herself.” He was far more suspicious of her than the Admiral was, insomuch as that the Admiral had expressed no suspicion in her whatsoever up until this point. Her training thus far was minimal, though she’d managed to survive well enough and had learned by watching him, as Sith Apprentices often had to: Sith Masters didn’t really do teaching and training. Even as cautious as he was being to not squander the potential represented by the level of her Force sensitivity, he wasn’t coddling her and he was not a supportive or paternal mentor. As she dried herself, she could hear them creeping to the outer doorway of the bathing hall, slipping inside as she promptly redressed herself in all but her weapon and her gauntlet.

                “Stupid little slut left her weapon out here,” whispered the platoon commander conspiratorially, “This will be a lot easier than expected. Typical weak little girl, too stupid and inept to be a threat.” She smirked as she listened, as she straightened her shirt and smoothed the right armhole. As she did, the platoon commander stepped into the open arch between rooms with his men, and with a breath she focused a frigid gaze on him and his men as they seemed to sort of swarm in with him.

                “I will offer you one opportunity to survive this,” she said in a solemn tone, “Leave now, and I will not kill you.” The platoon commander’s expression contorted with rage and hate at the perceived insolence.

                “Silence, you filthy little whore! You’re going to learn to speak only when given permission to speak, today!” shouted the commander in reply. Delk was a close friend from their days at the academy, and he had not taken well to the news that his friend and his friend’s entire platoon had been massacred by mere thieves, and then to see her return unscratched, having replaced those men so casually was too much for him. Even as he roared at her, the steel panels began to tremble and the rivets to vibrate as she focused on them, one of the simple steel panels on either side of that arched doorway. Sixteen rivets shot out of the two respective panels, which balanced precariously in place having no rivets to secure them, as the rivets floating in front of her were crushed and rounded.

                They changed from heavy-duty rivets with a two-inch-wide head to four-inch spikes a half-inch in diameter, as N’Lola crushed the rivets through an expression of the Force. A moment later, those rivets shot through the air like bullets from a gun, slamming into eight men with precision aim as N’Lola focused on her attackers. She struck each man with two spikes, one in the dead centre of the forehead and the other puncturing the Adam’s apple and the upper spine, simultaneously. As eight men out of thirty dropped to the ground dead, the platoon commander roared angrily.

                “Get the little slut!” he shouted, and they started to rush across the twenty-foot distance between them until the two panels suddenly moved. Each panel was an inch thick, four feet tall, and six feet wide, forged from durasteel, yet it floated as lightly as if it were no challenge whatsoever for her to lift them. The men jerked to a stop before being forced to leap backward, as the two panels swept toward each other, slamming together on either sides of another man, fatally flattening him between them. As they came apart, they started to shift and contort as her expression of the Force crushed the metal until it was reshaped into a two-inch-wide blade three and a half feet long and a sixteenth of an inch thick, with a six-inch handhold.

                “I warned you,” she advised, as the blades suddenly moved in the air and whipped around, brutally shearing down nine of the remaining twenty-one men as the last twelve leapt out of the way. As they hurried nearer to N’Lola, blades whirred through the air with a metallic whistle, cleaving fatally through two more of them before the handles slid smoothly into her hands. She leapt instantly forward, carried with an unnatural grace by the Force, her black hair fluttering behind her in the process, as her arms moved out in an arc to either side. Blades clove through the throats of four more men on either side, before she landed in a lunged-forward stance with the blood-drenched edges outstretched ahead of her. Her hair swept forward ahead of her as she landed, as well, with her back to the two survivors, one being the platoon commander, Korrin Vult. As she rose smoothly to a stand and turned, her hands moved again, and grip on blades loosened as her arms moved, blades whirring through the air as she flung them, guided by the Force. The two men turned too slowly, eyes widening as they saw the blades shearing the air toward them, then slamming into each man’s sternum and slamming him backward into the wall, impaling him and pinning him to the wall.

                A second smooth, unnaturally graceful leap carried her over the bodies of the spike-slain, landing on the far side, in the first chamber of the bathing area. The doors of bathroom stalls were open, and she approached the sinks, setting to the task of combing and then brushing her hair and binding it in a ponytail, brushing her teeth, affixing her holster and pulling on her right gauntlet. Finally, she holstered her light-saber, just as a knock on the wall came, and her eyes turned toward the opening, where an imperial sailor stood, eyes wide.

                “Yes, sailor?” she asked.

                “My Lady, I heard a commotion, and…”

                “These men attempted to assault me as I came out of the showers. Please report to Admiral Golm that I have killed platoon commander Korrin Vult and his men, cause of action: violation of imperial regulation number 312,” the young Sith replied, and he swallowed but nodded quickly in understanding.

                “Yes, Ma’am, sorry to disturb, Ma’am,” he replied obediently, quickly turning and proceeding to deliver the message from the admiral’s attaché to the admiral. She nodded, and then proceeded to the training hall of one of the ship’s barracks, where she activated her light-saber and then began to practice her form, openly. It was best she practice the expected methods of battle that the Admiral had assigned her to practice, where she would be most visible. If they saw her practice in a public locale, they might not suspect that she was engaging in additional practice in a more secret manner. As she proceeded through her practice motions, in methods to counteract the moves and patterns of the Jedi, the same people who had risked Bpfasshi hostility in their failed attempt to rescue her, she sensed men approaching. Her eyes narrowed with concentration as she continued her training, even as two entire platoons filed into the room, forming a bloc on one side of the room, facing her.

                She noted as she practiced her form, that they had taken up firing position thirty men wide and two men deep, and N’Lola sharpened her focus. One line on one knee, rifles in hand, the second line standing with the same, but she allowed them to think she was ignoring them for the moment. She twisted as the first shot was fired, her blade coming through the air in a deep hum as it intercepted the shot and redirected it, where it slammed through the visor of one of the storm troopers’ helmets and killed him. Instantly, the rest of them opened fire, and she slid gracefully between the shots even as she deflected one after the other, blaster shots ricocheting back into the firing line. Every motion of her light-saber deflected a blast back against them, each deflection killing one of the storm troopers in the opposing firing line. Finally, the firing stopped, when there was only one thing in the entire chamber that continued to draw breath at all, the fourteen-year-old herself. She immediately deactivated her light-saber and holstered it, then proceeded directly to the admiral’s ready-room, ringing the door forcefully as soon as she stepped in front of it.

                “Enter,” came the voice of Admiral Golm, and the doors opened immediately. She stepped through at once, allowing an irritated expression to cover her features as she shrouded inner calm with a tempestuous surface, feigning aggravation for her Master’s benefit.

                “Admiral, I have been attacked by three platoons of storm troopers this morning and was forced to slay them all. Is there something I should be aware of?”

                “I am aware of the situation, N’Lola,” he said in answer, “The attack in the bathing hall was not by my order. As for the other, I feel that congratulations are in order, you have passed your second test; my compliments upon your performance.” Her eyebrow twitched with feigned irritation to discover that her Sith Master had sought to surprise her with a pop quiz, in a manner of speaking.

                “Also, I believe that those two platoon commanders in particular were preparing to move against me, as well as the platoon commander who moved against you in the bathing halls. I decided to preempt those platoon commanders by telling them I was concerned you had betrayed the Empire and ordered them to attack you as you trained, trusting my competent, efficient apprentice to eliminate her attackers,” he continued, “a task you completed quite ably, by the way. However, there is one small problem.”

                “Problem, Admiral?”

                “Well, when I report that three platoon commanders went rogue and attacked my apprentice in an attempt to do severe bodily harm to her, the Empire will undoubtedly send three auxiliary platoons to replace them,” the Admiral said, “Unless, of course, I preempt that. If, for instance, I should report one hundred and twenty storm troopers have been slain, but that I have already replaced these with imperial loyalists confirmed by my apprentice…”

                “…then the Empire will not feel compelled to send new platoons to replace them,” N’Lola said in conclusion of his train of thought, and the Admiral nodded.

                “Exactly,” he replied, “Your next mission is to locate and recruit ninety warriors whose loyalty will be to me with priority, and the Empire second.” She nodded in answer, with a faint hint of a smile.

                “I will prepare a Delta-class shuttle, Admiral,” she replied, but he shook his head.

                “No; I know you are fond of the Delta-class shuttle, N’Lola, but it cannot transport soldiers efficiently. I want you to take all four of the Curich-class shuttles, the Barabel soldiers you recruited will accompany you,” replied Golm, “During my examination, I observed that Zivvac, Vindac, and Ketar, are skilled pilots capable of handling such craft. Between these ships, you will be able to transport the ninety replacement commandoes you locate, whom I will trust you to verify personally, though I will, naturally, examine them myself, upon your return.”

                “Naturally, Admiral,” she replied in a subordinate tone, with the cordial nod expected of his apprentice and minion. She had learned to veil herself from him with specificity, to predict the response he wanted and give it to him.

                “You depart in 3 hours, prepare yourself and the escort I am sending with you. I will leave it to you to decide where you wish to look for replacements,” the Admiral replied, and she nodded, turning sharply and exiting the ready-room promptly. Soon, the squadron of four Curich-class shuttles sailed out of the hangar bay of the Indomitable, with the Regulus in the lead. Trailed by the Aer, flanked by the Romulus on the port side and the Zor on the starboard, the squadron entered hyperspace in unison, headed for the planet of her choice. Each of the four ships had nine Barabel aboard, though there were ten on the Regulus. As they proceeded into Hyperspace, N’Lola took a breath as she began to think back as the shuttle squadron swept in a rush toward the planet Barab I, their flight utterly unobstructed.

 

                _“Remember, Ricona, most of your enemies will be weaklings who lack Force sensitivity, who will attempt to lie to you, who will attempt to deceive you. I will now show you the technique required to extract truth from a captured enemy, to take from them the truth whether they wish to provide it or not,” said Darth Fralius as he looked over and examined her a moment. Then, his eyes returned to the captured enemy, one of those whom the Empire was attempting to drive into oblivion… a Jedi. The thirteen-year-old observed intently, as her Master expected, while her Epicanthix mentors shielded her through the power of Force Veil, feigning within her the subtle emotional responses that Fralius was expecting to see._

_“This is called Memory Walk,” he said, then turned his Force on the captured Jedi. She observed him intently as he worked; she let her senses track his every act, studious in the extreme, though her goal was not the one instructed. She pinpointed weaknesses in his particular technique, in how he was doing it, and she pinpointed weaknesses in the entire process, ones which were vital to the trick and which would not vary from him to another dark-sider. Even as he tormented the Jedi for hours, N’Lola forced herself to observe with a sort of detachment, while the Sith Lord worked his torture on his victim._

_~There is nothing you can do about this, young one,~ said a voice in her mind, even as the Jedi captive had his eyes closed, or looking with a sort of defiant serenity at Darth Fralius, ~He will kill me. Do not attempt to rescue me, you have not yet the power or the training to do so, but your time will come.~_

_N’Lola blinked once to signify her understanding of his communication, he couldn’t see it without looking at her, but he could sense the acknowledgment. Nuav and Xuax were shielding her against being discovered by Fralius, but not by being discovered by this nameless Jedi. He could sense the serene pool that hid deep beneath the surface, an aquifer of tranquility veiled by the presence of a jagged and icy mountain. He could sense, also, the stirring of her true sentiments: empathy, sorrow, and the desire of one who wished that there might be some manner in which to save him from the natural result of his capture._

_The nameless man died more than a week later, and she had been forced to attend every session, to observe, to learn how to force information from an unwilling source. Instead, she studied the technique itself, studied the user’s technique; she examined it, meditated on it, and unraveled it in her mind. Finally, she developed a countermeasure, a trick that she called False Memory to herself, in her mind, and she used it. She implanted in his mind, daringly, right under the nose of Darth Fralius, a new memory, a deeper memory, a memory that suggested all other memories were an illusion, were misdirection, that all information he had gathered had been intended to be gathered. The discovery threw Darth Fralius into a seething rage, and unable to contain his wrath at the sensation of having been so completely deceived, he slew the unnamed Jedi, who died with an expression that was a faint smirk of approval._

                _~… clever girl,~ the voice whispered into her mind with understanding, seeing the memory of something he knew had not happened at the same moment that Darth Fralius had seen it. He knew it instantly for what it was, and at once, he knew where it had come from. Even as Fralius soared into uncontrollable fury and struck him with a deadly burst of lightning, the unnamed Jedi died with a maddeningly triumphant smirk on his face._

_“You see,” Darth Fralius said to his apprentice, panting heavily with rage and exertion, “As I told you, your enemies will be always weaklings and liars.” He snarled, enraged, at the scorched and smoking corpse, as it began to disintegrate into a pale blue mist with bright cerulean sparks, dissipating as the Jedi’s energies returned into the mass of the Force._

_“Your lessons are done for today. You are dismissed,” growled Fralius. He greatly wished to harm something else, but targeting his own apprentice would have been pointless, not to mention a waste of her potential for Fralius to have his revenge on the Jedi for making him look the part of a fool to said apprentice._

_“Yes, Master,” she replied obediently, and quickly exited the torture chamber, thankful that it was over and the poor man would no longer be tortured._

 

                The sound of a high-pitched beep broke her from her reverie, as the ship slowed from hyperspace and came to a complete halt in an extra-orbital position over the planet. Mere moments later, the Regulus was joined by the Aer, the Zor, and the Romulus, and the four vessels descended into the Barabel atmosphere. The planet was rife with many clans, and worse yet, Planetary Safaris was poaching the planet’s natural wildlife illegally, and even attempting to fool the Empire into giving them permission to do so when the indigenous began to kill them for it. Preempting the arrival of one particularly violent run by the poachers, they landed in the area that her scanners indicated they planned to land themselves, which happened to be a large Barabel village.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                As they descended into landing positions, they were greeted by a battalion of Barabel numbering more than two hundred individuals, but as Zivvac and his soldiers stepped out of the shuttles, hostility turned to affability almost immediately. They could tell from the sight of other Barabel, that whoever the unfamiliar Bpfassh girl was, she wasn’t an enemy here to poach them for their hides thinking they were nothing but man-eating reptilian beasts.

                “There are poachers approaching, you must return to your settlement and protect your people,” N’Lola said, taking aback the local Barabel at her abruptness, with some appreciation for her tactless delivery.

                “How do you know?”

                “We saw them as we entered the system and slipped past to enter the atmosphere ahead of them. There are seven armed transports, each of which having shields and heavy turbolasers. There are sixty life-signs aboard each of them, and I sense tremendous hostility and anger in their minds,” N’Lola said, and the Barabel’s faces transformed as they registered expressions of alarm.

                “My soldiers and I will intercept these poachers, but you must return to protect your homes and your families, in the event that the poacher scum should manage to get past us.”

                “Understood, Ma’am,” said the lead Barabel warrior, nodding, “Thank you.” Then, they turned and ran back to their village to secure the settlement as the armed, poacher transports entered the atmosphere far above, and N’Lola sensed their approach.

                “Soldiers, ready your rifles and take up positions amid the rocks!” commanded N’Lola, and Zivvac nodded, his soldiers split up into groups and hid among the shelter of the stone formations. Meanwhile, N’Lola remained out in the open, challengingly activating her light-saber as the enemy descended and then paused as they saw her, hovering and charging their weapons as they activated their shield generators. As she gripped her light-saber firmly in one hand, she waited as their guns trained on her and one of them fired experimentally. Her blade hummed through the air, where it collided with a turbolaser burst and deflected it harmlessly into the stratosphere, then redirected a second shot into the shield of one of the poacher vessels. It shuddered violent in answer, and four ships shot out of formation and down to land, two hundred and forty men immediately disembarking with blaster rifles charged and in-hand. Simultaneously, the remaining three continued to train their cannons on her, forcing her to remain focused on them as they fired at her, weaving to dodge as she deflected their shots back toward them.

                “Now!” she shouted to her soldiers, and the Barabel rose from their places of cover and opened fire on those who had disembarked from their dropships in an attempt to overwhelm her. Dozens fell dead instantly as the Barabel fired with incredible and lethal accuracy at the poorly armoured poachers, dropping their number near instantly from two hundred forty to ninety-two. Forced into an immediate change-of-plans, the poachers turned their backs to N’Lola and formed a ring around her as they fired on her support fighters. Even as they ducked behind cover once more, the poachers were too smart to think they could risk turning back in her direction. Zivvac pressed his back to the stone of the rock formation, and then made a vertical, forward sweeping motion with one clawed hand, then horizontal across his field of vision, and several of his men nodded. As Zivvac rolled out and fired once more, this time more distraction than assault, the poachers jumped out of the way of the fire launched at them by a much smaller number of Barabel in that direction. Simultaneously, six others circled stealthily, splitting until three of them joined Vindac and three joined Ketar, bringing each of their groups to twelve men to fifteen.

                As they arrived, Vindac lifted the ridge above one eye at the arriving trio.

                “Vissot! What are you doing?” came the harsh whisper, before they rolled out of their own concealment, and fired anew on the poachers, distracting them by forcing them to continue turning and jumping out of the path of their shots. In answer, the Barabel Vissot mimicked Zivvac’s motions, and Vindac nodded.

                “The Garel manoeuvre, got it,” he answered, recognizing the motions that indicated a manoeuvre named for the planet they’d first used it on. A moment later, two more of the remaining seven Barabel from the north group came to join Vindac, while two more joined Ketar, leaving only Zivvac and three other fighters in the north group.

                Then, Zivvac and those three rolled out to fire once more, holding their positions cautiously, ducking just in time to miss being hit by a blast. Then, Zivvac gave a shout.

                “Ah! Oh! All right, we surrender!” the Barabel feigned the sound of a grievous wound and surrender, though N’Lola could sense he was still in perfect health and neither frightened nor wounded. The poachers, however, had no such ability as they lacked anyone who was Force-sensitive amidst their number, and coalesced on the north group to execute the surrendering Barabel. As they did, the southeast and southwest groups slid stealthily from their positions of concealment, and fired blasts at the unsuspecting poachers, shearing their number down from ninety-two to nothing in a few brief seconds.

                As her soldiers outmanoeuvred and outsmarted the poachers on the ground, N’Lola had remained focused on their armed transports intently. When some of the Barabel started to move, she noticed the gun-mounts beginning to move away from firing at her, and she tapped into the full depth of her inner calm. The ships the poachers were using were familiar to her in their manufacture, and she recognized them from her studies of imperial schematics as being IF-120 landing craft, undoubtedly stolen and clearly modified. She extended her gauntleted right hand and she reached out with the Force, allowing her facial features to transform into a mask of agitation while smoothly transitioning her Force Veil to provide the same sensation to anyone attempting to read her. Her Force reached into the ship whose guns had started to move away from her, even as her left hand moved to deflect another blaster shot. Through her use of the Force, she seized control of the flight controls of the offending vessel, and jerked sharply in the direction of one of the other two vessels. A loud, metallic crash as the two ships collided and she reached with the Force to their engine computerized mainframes, triggering an overload in their engine cores. The two ships began to shake violently in the air; a second later, their engine cores detonated in a large and fiery explosion with a lateral shockwave that disrupted the engines of the third, causing it to explode as well. For a moment, she sensed another threat, more distant and vastly more dangerous, though still somewhere nearby. As she sought with her senses, the threat vanished entirely, and she furrowed her eyebrows briefly in consternation.

                Her muscles tensed and relaxed, and she swayed a little bit with the exertion, but shook her head to clear her mind as she straightened and forced her muscles to comply with her. She focused her mind, and with one final touch of the Force, she reinvigorated her body, though her reserves were at a critical low.

                “My Lady!” came the call as the Barabel clan-chief returned, “My Lady that was a most impressive display! If I may ask, to what do we owe your timely intervention?” The seven-foot clan-lord queried as he regarded the young woman inquisitively. A girl of such power was either an apprentice or a padawan; he had his own conclusions based on what he had just seen, but if she made no mention of it, he was comfortable following suit. Either way, such girls did not just randomly appear on the Barabel homeworld for no reason: she had to be there for some reason or another, and he was admittedly curious.

                “I have been tasked with acquiring replacements for ninety imperial soldiers who were recently killed,” she replied, “Such soldiers will need to be extraordinarily loyal and able to remember clearly where their loyalties lie.” At that, the clan-chief nodded his understanding.

                “Understood, Ma’am,” he replied, “How did the imperial soldiers come to be dead, if I may?”

                “I killed them,” she answered, and he blinked but nodded as he realized the situation aboard the ship she was from was far more dangerous and complex than he had first assumed. Still, he had ideas for how to provide her with the reinforcements he could logically conclude she wanted.

                “I understand, my Lady. I believe I have men who possess the precise specifications you require,” he replied, “Please, stay in the village this evening, you look as if you are in need of rest.”

                “I am, and thank you,” N’Lola said, then jerked to an abrupt halt and squinted as she looked around, sensing a great power nearby, but one as unfamiliar as it was impressively strong. For a moment, the Force warned her of an impending threat of dire proportion, but then, in the next heartbeat, the threat seemed to disintegrate into nothingness. There was still the feeling of a great power nearby, but one whose mindset toward her had switched from malevolence to benevolence. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason, but as drained as she felt at this moment in time, she found herself thankful that whatever had been considering engaging her in battle, had elected against it, and she went with her newfound friends into their settlement for a night’s rest.

 

                A scant thousand feet distant, a pair of yellow-green irises fixated coolly on the fourteen-year-old, the Neti survivor watched the girl tap into emotional power and use the Force to trigger explosions on the three poacher ships. She readied herself to attack, since that was a great and terrible power of the dark side of the Force, tan skin rippling with the tensing of muscles as her eleven and a half foot frame prepared to sweep toward the Sith apprentice. Her fingers curled around the wood-and-metal grip of her green-bladed light-saber, root-like brown tendrils on her head seeming like they were somehow tensing. Even as the muscles of her thighs started to prepare for a great leap to race toward the young, exhausted apprentice, she felt a minute disturbance in the Force, almost precisely at her own location. A notable disturbance in the Force had drawn her to the Barabel homeworld, and as she prepared to strike, it was a minor disturbance and the sense of a familiar presence that made her halt abruptly.

                “Who’s there?” she asked as she half-turned, and stared in disbelieving recognition at the spectral image of a Jedi Master who had been dead for many years, dressed the same as he had always dressed in life.

                “All is not as it appears to be, T’ra Saa,” said the manifestation of Qui-Gon Jinn’s consciousness, projecting his voice into the realm of the living, “The young woman is not the enemy of the Jedi. She is an enemy of the Empire, and an enemy to all who serve the dark side of the Force.”

                “The girl used the Force to destroy three ships,” T’ra said.

                “Yes, but not with evil purpose,” Qui-Gon replied cryptically, and T’ra tilted her head at him quizzically.

                “Yet I felt a powerful surge of emotion from her as she used it,” T’ra mused thoughtfully.

                “The emotion was a veil, the girl is acting with an excess of caution,” Qui-Gon explained, “While she used the Force, she cautiously modified her expression and veiled her emotion. The blue represents the true source of the power that allowed her to use the Force for a power as devastating as that which you observed.” T’ra paused a moment, to process and consider what he said to her.

                “You saw that which she wished any living person to see: the channeling of anger in a moment of tumult and agitation. I saw that which she wishes no living person to see: she channeled a deep and terrible tranquility, focused by the lens of her purpose, sharpened by the whetstone of her devotion to the protection of life by interference with the machinations of the Emperor.” T’ra Saa’s hostility almost evaporated at the revelation that the girl had been channeling only inner calm, and she deactivated her light-saber in that instant.

                “I shall hope that you are right, Qui-Gon Jinn,” she said with a soft, meditative breath.

                “Tell none what I have shared with you, only that we have an ally in the Empire, and then only share as much as you must. This one’s ability to aid the rebel cause depends on her truth remaining undiscovered,” Qui-Gon said, before his ghostly image disintegrated into a mist as if it had been struck by a strong breeze.

                “Interesting,” said T’ra Saa to herself as she watched the young apprentice walk with the Barabel whom she had saved and those who had arrived with her, into a Barabel settlement. It represented another secret she would have to carry with her, until the day when she could reveal that secret without putting the young woman’s life at risk. Even still, T’ra Saa had no idea who she was, but whoever she was, Qui-Gon Jinn was convinced that she was an enemy of the Empire, and an enemy of the dark-siders, and that made her an ally to both the rebellion and the Jedi survivors. It could only be described as a startling development; she had never expected the rebellion to have an ally in the Empire, much less one hidden so deeply therein.

                “Good luck, child,” T’ra Saa breathed the words, “you walk a perilous path.” As the opportunity for stealthy departure arose, T’ra Saa returned to her ship, and quickly fled the planet with the new secret she had learned.

 

                Following a night’s rest, N’Lola emerged following breakfast and a shower, to discover the clan-chief found and briefed prospective soldiers, thankful for her intervention against the poachers. She would have her choice out of one hundred and thirty individuals, from whom she was readily able to select eighty-three individuals, as the fleet’s crew could only easily accommodate for a certain number. Although the Admiral had instructed her to select ninety, she went instead with ninety-three, bringing the number of people loyal to her before all others, to one hundred thirty. It was a good start for her own plans, and she nodded to the clan-chief.

                “Thank you, Tokkal. I am sure that these men will be perfectly suited to my needs,” N’Lola said, and in reply, the clan-chief bowed his head briefly in agreement. Then, they were quick to board the shuttles and swiftly flew back to the Indomitable, where the men were interviewed rather simply by the admiral once N’Lola made her report. Golm’s trust in her at this time, combined with their proper answers to his questions, convinced her Master that he had nothing to fear from her yet. Even as the admiral was beginning to turn his focus to another task, the entire ship shook abruptly, utterly without warning, and nearly threw him from his feet. At the same moment, N’Lola jerked through the air before setting her feet and stabilizing herself, faster and more smoothly than her Master, and looked toward the Sith Lord for instruction. A moment’s pause followed, and then the doors of the ready-room opened unexpectedly.

                “Admiral, the fleet is under attack!”

                “Rebels?” demanded Admiral Golm. The sailor shook his head.

                “Blackguard dropships, Admiral!” answered the sailor, and the admiral blinked and stared at him in disbelief, if only for a moment. Still, N’Lola sensed that his first reaction was one of shock, followed by one of outrage.

                “How many?” the Sith Lord demanded.

                “One hundred,” the breathless sailor replied.

                “One hundred men?” queried the admiral.

                “One hundred dropships,” clarified the sailor. The admiral’s expression paled faintly with surprise, because the Blackguard had successfully stolen the schematics for the TIE Boarding Shuttle, each of which able to transport a squad of as many as twelve individuals. One hundred dropships meant that there was a very real possibility of twelve hundred Blackguard interlopers coming aboard, split between the nineteen ships.

                “Ricona,” said Darth Fralius as his yellow irises turned to his apprentice, “Purge the Blackguard interlopers from the Indomitable.”

                “Yes, Master,” she replied with a quick, curt nod, turning promptly on one heel and exiting the ready-room as she drew and activated her light-saber. She soon found her Barabel loyalists were engaged in battle by the intruders, and narrowed her concentration into the task, shrouding her tranquility behind a wall of false fury and converting her facial features to the same. Her gauntleted hand extended, and a wall of Force whipped from her hands to strike those twelve men with a powerful distraction. Even as they turned, blasters lanced into them from the flank they abandoned, as her Barabel soldiers seized the opportunity to kill the interlopers.

                “Collect their lightsabers, and secure the armoury!” she commanded, sensing the Blackguards were nowhere in the vicinity thereof, which meant security for her loyalists. Zivvac nodded immediately, and motioned, the Barabel soldiers quickly collecting the twelve light-sabers and retreating to the armoury as N’Lola then turned, following her Force-sensitivity to the location of additional Blackguard soldiers. As she entered one of the hangars, she paused on a balcony beside a wall-mounted ladder, overlooking the hangar and the decimation ahead.

                The hangar floor was strewn with the bodies of seventy-two imperial soldiers, twenty-four pilots and forty-eight hangar crew, with two dozen flaming, smoking heaps of metal that had previously been TIE Fighters. However, before they had been able to get to the Curich shuttles, they had been interrupted by the arrival two platoons of naval security personnel, all sixty of whom lay dead on the floor of the hangar now, too. She could tell these platoons bought time for storm troopers to arrive, and four platoons were now engaged in battle against two dozen light-saber-wielding Blackguard soldiers, who had already killed thirty-six of the storm troopers. Even right at this position, two squads of the interlopers had killed one hundred and sixty-eight soldiers without losses, as deadly as a Jedi incursion.

                However, Darth Fralius did not specify that she should rescue soldiers already engaged in battle against those Blackguard interlopers. Out of all imperial soldiers battling the intruders, below, not one was loyal to her with priority, and she was content to observe the fight and let it unfold without her own interference. The Blackguards’ assault was a mixed blessing, and one that represented a serious opportunity for the advancement of the young Sith apprentice’s own plans, and N’Lola knew it. As she sensed familiar Force behind her, she turned her head a slight bit as Nuav and Xuax approached and stopped to either side of her and slightly behind.

                “Are you going to stop them?” asked Nuav.

                “I was thinking about it,” N’Lola answered, “Darth Fralius commanded me to eradicate the Blackguards.”

                “You might want to do so before they run out of other things to kill,” Xuax observed.

                “The admiral didn’t specify for me to rescue anyone,” she replied, and the Epicanthix twins both responded with a chortling smirk of understanding.

                “Where do you need us to be?” asked Nuav.

                “Not here,” N’Lola replied, “Seek out and destroy some of the other squads on the ship. If you find imperials battling them, let them kill the imperials first.” The Epicanthix twins nodded in agreement, concurring with her thought on the matter, stepping back through the door before turning and racing to track down other groups. Then, N’Lola’s eyes turned back toward the battle below, as she took a deep breath and focused, entering a brief meditative state and heightening her inner calm. She focused, then out with the power of her mind and the Force, not to the Blackguards, but to the remaining storm troopers those Blackguards were battling against, slipping her will into the minds of those four dozen who remained. Abruptly, their tactic changed from firing at all enemies to firing at particular enemies at a time, focusing their assault to overwhelm the Blackguards, four at a time. As each section of twelve storm troopers focused their fire on a single Blackguard, other Blackguards started to rush forward as their number began to dwindle for the first time.

                “The apprentice is here!” shouted one of the Blackguards, as the whole of their number sensed her influence, as their number dropped from twenty-four to twenty, then to sixteen. The storm troopers below were falling quickly, since they had stopped firing at all enemies simultaneously and began to focus, but now they were overwhelming the defensive skill of individual interlopers. She winced faintly, one eyelid twitching every time one of the minds she was influencing went silent in death, and clenched her jaw while her fingers tightened about the grip of her lightsaber, but she maintained her focus. Forty-eight troopers began thirty, and thirty became twelve, and twelve fell smoothly to nil, but in the aftermath of her influence, she had also diminished the Blackguards from twenty-four to six. Passing from her trance, she ran to the edge of the balcony and leapt, using the Force to come sweeping down in a graceful glide, landing in front of those who remained. She could sense their inexperience, and realized that those who had come to attack the ship must have been Elite Minions, seeking to prove their worth and rise to the rank of Blackguard Wilders.

                “Surrender now, and I will see that you are not executed,” N’Lola said, “Otherwise, I will have no choice but to kill you.” The six young men blinked at her in disbelief and stared for a moment, before one of them lurched forward to attack, his lightsaber cutting the air with a low, soft hum. Her own cut the air and struck his with a loud hum as she pivoted on her heel and slammed her right elbow into the back of his head, followed by the back of her fist. N’Lola’s movement continued in a wheeling motion that brought her lightsaber around, soon puncturing his body through the upper torso and leaving a scorched hole through his heart and one lung. His lightsaber clattered to the ground, and his body went slack, gravity cutting a gaping, seared path out of his body up through the shoulder before he fell dead on the hangar floor.

                “I will give you one last opportunity to surrender,” N’Lola repeated, as she sensed the approach of additional security personnel who felt as if they were armed, as well, “you will die soon, if you do not yield. I can promise your lives if you surrender.” They heard the sound of the doors whirring open, the five young men looked around from her to the arriving storm troopers, and looked to her once more. Their fingers moved, in motions that seemed inexorably slow, until the press of a button and their lightsabers were deactivated, released, clattering to the metal of the floor as their arms lifted over their heads.

                “Do not fire,” N’Lola commanded the storm troopers, _~You will have one chance to escape, be ready when that opportunity arrives, and remember that it is the light that brought salvation.~_

 _~Who are you?~_ came the voice of one of the five young men into her mind.

                _~Selene,~_ she said, choosing a name for the rebels to know her by, “Take these men to the brig.”

                There had nevertheless been an incredible number of casualties, throughout the fleet, as the reports were delivered to her for her to deliver to the admiral personally. It wouldn’t be the first time the bearer of bad news had suffered because of the bad news they brought, and the sailors bringing in the reports to her, confessed they felt it was less likely that the admiral would kill his attaché than them. An observation she had to agree with in her mind, to which she nodded her understanding outwardly.

                “Admiral,” N’Lola said as she stepped into the ready-room, “I have the final report on the aftermath of the Blackguard attack.”

                “You may begin,” granted the Admiral as he stood at his window looking out. The ships themselves had not been too terribly damaged, but there was a considerable loss of life and machinery: the interlopers had targeted their starfighters with demolitions experts.

                “There are seventeen thousand dead throughout the Fleet, including all fighter pilots and hangar personnel, and all two hundred and forty of the TIE Fighters. All fatalities originate in the Human crewmembers,” she explained, providing the quickest and simplest summary that she could.

                “Damn,” swore the admiral under his breath, “We will need to requisition new TIE Fighters. This will mean several thousand new imperial soldiers to come with them.”

                “Unless we replace the soldiers before notifying the Empire of the assault, admiral,” offered N’Lola, feigning a submissive, placating tone. The admiral raised an eyebrow ridge, then half-turned and looked toward her critically, but could not deny the logic in her proposition, particularly since he had ordered her to do precisely that once, already. It was entirely fair for her to assume he would wish her to do something similar now, though with how many people were lost, it might prove to be a much more involved task and it would require more than a few simple Curich shuttles. If he wanted her to do this and to do it quickly, she would need something considerably larger, to transport a minimum of nine thousand reinforcements.

                “Were the casualties particularly severe on any of the ships?”

                “The captains of the Albatross, the Dauntless, the Harbinger, and the Avenger, are dead,” she replied, after a momentary pause to check the casualty lists. It meant all four of the fighter-carriers were presently without captains, since the crews of both Ton Falk-class ships and both Neutron Star-class ships were almost utterly eviscerated by the attack. Indeed, of the seventeen thousand seventy-eight dead, roughly three thousand six hundred had been aboard those Neutron Star-class ships, and four thousand had been aboard the Ton Falk-class ships.

                “Take the Dauntless,” said the admiral at last, “acquire reinforcement soldiers for all personnel that we have lost, we cannot let the Empire put that many of their own replacements on the ship.”

                “Yes, Admiral,” she replied.

                “How many fatalities aboard the Acclamators?” asked the admiral. Each one carried sixteen thousand soldiers in addition to the seven hundred actual crewmen. He hoped that some had died, so he could replace them, because he was confident that they were imperial loyalists, through and through.

                “Six thousand,” she replied, and the admiral offered a grim nod of acceptance. In spite of that expression, her senses told her that there was a wicked, unmistakable glee beneath that somber surface.

                “Replace those, as well,” he instructed, and she nodded, “You may go.” She turned immediately, and exited the ready-room to move to the Dauntless, which was soon followed by one of the Acclamators after it had transferred enough soldiers to replenish all five others. After that, it had six thousand seventy vacancies she was instructed to fill, among the seventeen thousand one hundred and forty-eight crew and soldiers she needed to replace. Through a quick use of her abilities, and with the assistance of the Epicanthix twins, she had the five captured Blackguards transferred from the Indomitable’s brig to the Dauntless. Then, within an hour, both ships had vanished into hyperspace, and with the Epicanthix twins at the helm of the Dauntless, they set a course for her first destination: the planet Ryloth.

                While they were in hyperspace, N’Lola reached with her mind and manipulated a battalion of storm troopers into releasing the prisoners from the brig and escorting them to the hangar of the Dauntless. Seconds later, the five of them were alone in the hangar, without anyone else within a hundred meters of the hangar. Seizing their opportunity, the five young men hurried to the consoles and opened the hangar bay, in spite of the fact they were in hyperspace. It would be a dangerous escape, but as she had warned, they would have one chance and one chance only, and this was it. They dared not run the risk of using their own Force abilities until now, waiting the opportunity she had promised, until they were standing in the hangar looking out at the whirring blur of hyperspace through the force field. In thanks for her assistance, they made sure to magnetize the shuttles they weren’t taking, before boarding the last one and made ready to drop the force field remotely so they could escape.

                _~Selene,~_ the words came to her mind, _~My name is Jorren Mirkaire, and wherever you are, if ever you need us, we will be there for you. Thank you.~_

 _~You are welcome,~_ Selene replied mentally, using the Force more comfortably having only eight individuals Force-sensitive on the entire ship, and being able to account for all of them, with five about to leave.

                _~Where should we go?~_

 _~Let the Force lead you to the light,~_ Selene advised, and felt a response of assent from all five. A moment later, her mind turned toward the naval personnel on the bridge, who had begun to notice an anomaly in the hangars. She reached with the Force and erased that anomaly from their memories, and used the Force to conceal it from them, to ensure they did not see it. A few seconds later, she felt the five Force-sensitives almost instantaneously vanish from her senses as the stolen Curich-class left the ship, and was immediately dragged from hyperspace.

                Once they arrived, they spent ten days as N’Lola, Nuav, and Xuax, interviewed prospective pilots and flight mechanics in the thousands. Finally, however, they were able to select four hundred eighty flight mechanics and two hundred forty starfighter pilots who met a sequence of specifications which confirmed their loyalty would be to N’Lola above all else. Their complexions were widely varied between the seven hundred twenty individuals: some were blue-skinned, some green-skinned, some purple-skinned, while others were yellow-skinned and still others orange-skinned. However, both of the Epicanthix assassins were unquestionably confident in their loyalty, in agreement with N’Lola herself, and then the ships set out from Ryloth to her next destination. For nearly a month more, she remained in only long-range communication with Darth Fralius as she interviewed prospective replacements on the planets of Gelefil, more often called Annoo since the Annoo-dat Prime had conquered it, Bpfassh, and Barab I.

                “The Empire has informed me that replacement soldiers will be ready to be sent to replenish the fleet in two weeks,” Darth Fralius said to her as she knelt on one knee in the communications chamber, demonstrating her feigned submission to her Master, “How close are you to completing your task?”

                “Two days, Master,” she replied, and a grim smile of satisfaction formed on the holographic image of the face of the Feeorin Sith Lord, “We have only a few more positions to fill, only two hundred and sixty more interviews.”

                “Excellent,” he replied, and then the holographic image vanished unceremoniously. She had interviewed in all likelihood more than one hundred thousand people, between herself and the Epicanthix twins, before selecting four thousand nine hundred and seven Bpfasshi, six thousand three hundred and eight Annoo-dat Primes, and an additional five thousand two hundred thirteen Barabel. She preemptively assigned the Annoo-dat Primes to the Acclamator, the ‘Intrepid,’ spreading her influence onto one of the troop transports. They would inform her, covertly, if there happened to be threats on the Intrepid that she needed to find a way to be rid of, and now four ship captains were fellow Bpfasshi, who would be likewise loyal to her above all.

                On their return, it was more people than the admiral could interview to verify them for himself, and instead he interviewed N’Lola, Nuav, and Xuax, to verify instead the motivations of those he had put in charge of replacing those who had been killed by the Blackguard assault. Despite his trust in N’Lola, he interviewed her extensively, but was ultimately satisfied; expert deceivers themselves, the unreadable Epicanthix twins were able to convince Golm of their own loyalty with equal efficiency. It took days, but finally the Sith Lord was satisfied, and with the Empire being satisfied the vacancies had been filled with loyalists, they notified the admiral and his attaché that they were sending a freighter to transport the two hundred and forty TIE Fighters that needed replacement. They would additionally be sending replacements for the thirteen Curich-class shuttles that had also been destroyed in the Blackguards’ incursion. The fleet waited, in an extra-orbital position far above the planet Velusia, for the arrival of the freighter carrying the replacement TIE Fighters.

                Following a three-day wait, a Star Galleon frigate swept out of hyperspace and approached the fleet. Even as the TIE Fighters were being transferred to their new hangars and assigned to the Twi’lek crews, N’Lola sensed the approach of someone who was potent in the use of the Force. It was not long before a Delta-class shuttle landed in the Indomitable’s primary hangar, and from it emerged a tall, gaunt Human six foot four inches in height with short black hair in a slicked-back style and light, grey-green eyes. He was dressed in an armoured, open-fronted robe including a neck-guard, with a light-saber holstered on his right hip, black leather boots of ankle-height, lightly armoured tunic and breeches, and a durasteel-buckled black leather belt. The man was accompanied by four other males, armed with light-sabers, each clad in black armour. She could sense the Force in all four of those additional soldiers, and she knew with certitude the four men were not only imperial agents, but Sith Warriors.

                “Welcome to the Indomitable,” said N’Lola as she stepped forward to greet them, “I am N’Lola Vurkoth, the attaché to Admiral Golm.”

                “Ah, Fralius’ apprentice, precisely the young woman I came to see,” the lead man replied, “I am Inquisitor Jerrik.” She raised an eyebrow at his assurance that he had come to see her, and outwardly disregarded the statement.

                “Shall I escort you to the admiral?”

                “No, child, I am here to speak with you, as well as Lieutenant-Commanders Nuav and Xuax,” said Inquisitor Jerrik, and N’Lola nodded calmly.

                “Understood, Inquisitor Jerrik,” she answered serenely, “Where would you like to conduct your interview?”

                “Cargo Bay 3, Storage Room 7,” he replied coolly, slipping past her to lead the way with a soft swish of his armoured robe. The scent of leather, cotton, and metal, filled her nostrils as he passed, looking over his shoulder with a snide smirk. Flanked by two Sith Warriors on either side of her, N’Lola followed with a serene, smooth gait, as the Inquisitor ordered that the two Epicanthix Lieutenant-Commanders meet them at their destination. As they arrived in the cargo bay, N’Lola found the twins waiting as well, and sensed the approach of several hundred people throughout the ship’s crew.

                “Lieutenant-Commander Nuav,” said Inquisitor Jerrik, motioning toward the modest-sized storage room, and following him into the room. They waited several minutes, then Nuav returned and Xuax entered in his twin’s place, after which there was another wait of several minutes before the doors opened again. Finally, the second Epicanthix emerged, and N’Lola strolled casually into the storage room, which had a ten-foot ceiling and while it was forty feet on a side, so much of that was crates of supplies, including water and rations, it almost felt cramped even with just the two of them.

                “Apprentice Ricona,” said Jerrik as the doors of the storage room whirred softly shut, “your choice of attire is, to say the least… quite interesting. I must ask, why does your shirt have only one sleeve?”

                “I elected for a gauntlet in lieu of a sleeve,” came the smooth, honest answer from the fourteen-year-old.

                “I see, and why do you favour a gauntlet over a sleeve?”

                “Style preference,” she answered in a tone of utter serenity, though the Inquisitor’s eyebrow twitched as if he suspected she was giving him cheek.

                “I suppose we all have our… preferences,” admitted Jerrik in a somewhat condescending tone of voice, “And from whence did you acquire your gauntlet?”

                “I fabricated the gauntlet myself,” she replied with continuing honesty. The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow and turned his head faintly toward her, coming to a halt to her left and looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

                “Hmm, interesting,” answered the Inquisitor, “What does it do?”

                “It houses a simple communicator,” she answered, her serene tone unchanged as the lie slipped from her lips as sleek and silky as a cat. That wasn’t _all_ it did…

 

                _“What’s this?”_

_“It’s a kyber crystal, the most powerful of the types of crystals typically used in lightsabers,” replied Xuax._

_“It was not easy to acquire. However,” Nuav warned, “we feel through our connection to the Force that you are ready for the responsibility it represents. We can get you what you need to make use of the crystal.”_

_“Thank you,” N’Lola replied thoughtfully, “I will need… a small amount of beskar, as well as a small amount of phrik.” The twins each lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully, but nodded to her request._

_Once she had the minerals required, she had set to work immediately on fabricating a device, though it took her two months of secret labour to complete it. Finally, however, she was able to introduce the gauntlet to her ensemble as a shimmer of iridescent black. Fitting close to her skin, it stretched from her fingertips to her elbow, gleaming and having a bulge lengthwise from elbow to rise on either side, the topside and the underside._

_“Fascinating,” said Nuav observantly, “Did you use the kyber crystal in this, too?”_

_“Yes,” N’Lola replied, her projection standing amid the rock formations of the vast deserts of Tatooine._

_“What is the function the crystal provides?”_

_“A protective sleeve from my fingers to my shoulder,” she replied, and understanding dawned on both faces, as they realized the reason that she had removed the right sleeve from all of her shirts. They had noticed that for the last two months, N’Lola had stopped wearing right sleeves, and this explained the unexpected disappearance of part of her normal body covering._

_“I see, it’ll allow you to block lightsabers, then,” observed Xuax, and N’Lola nodded, “Interesting choice.”_

 

                “Resourceful,” observed Inquisitor Jerrik, then rolled his shoulders and dismissed it, “What makes you think you are qualified to select replacements for the imperial troops who were killed during the Blackguard assault?”

                “I made no such self-judgment,” answered N’Lola smoothly, “nor was it my decision to make. I was given a task and ordered to perform it. I did as instructed, to the best of my abilities.”

                “Who ordered you to select these replacements?”

                “The only one whose orders I listen to, the orders of my Master, Darth Fralius,” she answer in a tranquil tone, though the Inquisitor’s eyebrow twitched as if he suspected sass, though he could sense nothing from her but honesty and serene submission to his questions.

                “Where did you decide to search for the replacements your Master instructed you to acquire?”

                “The planets Bpfassh, Ryloth, Gelefil, and Barab I,” she answered with continuing calm. For once, N’Lola was able to use her natural state of calm to her own benefit, minimizing her use of the Force Veil to one so minor that it slipped beneath the Inquisitor’s natural radar. He hadn’t noticed the lie when she insinuated that her gauntlet housed _only_ the communicator to which she had made the direct reference.

                “Why those planets?” questioned the Inquisitor, probing her mentality and rationalization.

                “The Barabel, Twi’leks, Annoo-dat Primes, and Bpfasshi all have strong, proud warrior traditions and possess the intelligence required to fill the positions made vacant. The residents of these four worlds were reasonable choices,” she answered, in the same rational tone. Her will warred with his in this interrogation, as she maintained a cautiously respectful, subordinate voice and refused to give him reason to become agitated. She could tell he wanted to, she could tell that he likely felt sassed at a couple points, but could find nothing to suggest it was intentional, even if it may have been slightly thus.

                “How many prospective candidates did you interview in your search to fill the vacated positions?”

                “Over one hundred thousand,” she replied.

                “From these, what made you favour the individuals you selected?”

                “Each individual selected was chosen to fill a specific role within the fleet, to replace a specific soldier. Those selected were chosen for having a predetermined set of mandatory characteristics. Each candidate had to demonstrate proficiency and efficiency in the skills that would be required of the role. Additionally, I required proof of intelligence, reliability, strong work ethic, and above all, loyalty to the Empire,” replied N’Lola, the lie that hid within the otherwise truthful statement slipping stealthily beneath the Inquisitor’s radar.

                “I see, and…” started Inquisitor Jerrik, before the door shook violently and then flew from the hinges inward, as Darth Fralius stormed into the storage room.

                “You dare to interrogate my apprentice absent of my presence and without first consulting me on the matter?” demanded Fralius.

                “Lord Fralius, I am merely performing the duties I have been instructed to perform,” advised Inquisitor Jerrik, “Your apprentice was selected to make the final decision on the replacement of more than seventeen thousand Imperial soldiers. The Emperor was… concerned, and wished to verify the loyalty of those involved in the selection process.” Fralius narrowed his eyes, clearly less than placated by the argument, and for several long minutes, the two men stared aggressively into one another’s eyes, before the Inquisitor set his jaw.

                “Very well,” the Inquisitor said, “This interview is over. There is one last matter to be attended to.” Jerrik’s eyes turned toward N’Lola. He stepped out of the storeroom, followed by both the Sith Lord and his young apprentice.

                “And what final matter, before you return to your Master, Inquisitor?” demanded Fralius.

                “Your apprentice must now pass a trial by combat, to demonstrate her strength and her embrace of the power of the dark side,” the Inquisitor replied. The admiral’s eyebrow ridge twitched with anger, but he set his jaw and tacitly accepted the edict, in part for lack of choice in the matter. N’Lola drew her lightsaber and activated it, holding it firmly in one hand as she walked into an open part of the cargo bay, about the fringes of whence had gathered hundreds of soldiers, including many on balconies, as the cargo bay was massive, standing a full four decks tall.

                “And against whom shall I fight, Inquisitor Jerrik?” asked N’Lola calmly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see more than a few Bpfassh and Barabel soldiers cautiously tightening their handholds on their weapons. From the periphery of her vision, she could also see many of the ship’s security personnel tightening their own grips, though not because of her loyalists. All eyes were on the Inquisitor, on the Sith Lord, and on his apprentice. At even the first hint of a signal from her, she suspected her chosen ones might have been willing and ready to launch an all-out attack. She suspected that the Golm-loyalists would have reacted in much the same way, if Darth Fralius had decided to make a true issue out of the Inquisitor’s incursion.

                “Them,” the Inquisitor replied, and with a motion, two of the Sith Warriors he had brought with him moved forward, activating their lightsabers in the process. She walked out to an open position in the cargo bay, even as their audience grew to hundreds, and the Inquisitor grimaced at it becoming such a major demonstration. Her lightsaber’s blade hummed through the air as she turned to face them, now having an area a few dozen meters in diameter to battle the two warriors in. Each man was in his early twenties, gripped the hilt of his lightsaber in both hands, and approached with a measured gait as they neared.

                As one lunged, she twisted out of the way and snapped a kick into his hip, which knocked him further than he had intended to go by amplifying his own inertia. Even as she spun around, her lightsaber whipped about and a loud hum sounded as she blocked the blade of the other with her own. As the first recovered, she brought her foot up and slammed it into the second’s sternum, catapulting him backward through the air to land on his back as she wheeled to block the incoming blade of the other. Another loud hum, as she pivoted and rolled with quick footwork, slamming her elbow into the back of the man’s head before kicking him in the small of the back, throwing him into his teammate.

                The two men glowered at her with irritation, circling her in opposite directions for a moment until she leapt backward, expanding the space between her and both of them in a third direction. Immediately, one of the men raised his free hand and launched a wave of Force at her with a thrust of that hand, though N’Lola twisted sideward out of the path of it. Then, she suddenly burst forward, and the man raced forward to meet her, as her gauntleted right hand lifted and swiveled, coming down in a gavel-like motion. Suddenly, a powerful wave of Force slammed into the man nearest her, buckling his knees under the weight almost to the point of his knees touching the metal floor. The striking motion simultaneously catapulted her into the air as if it were a pole vault, moving in a perfect semicircular arc before coming down behind him, toward the second man. Her lightsaber hummed deeply through the air as she came down with an overhand chop, but as the second moved to block it with his own, she used the Force once more. She slammed a fist of Force into his gut, knocking the air out of him and weakening his position before knocking his blocking hand out of the path.

                A second later, her blade clove through his body from his left shoulder to his right hip, shearing him into two separate pieces. Even as his lightsaber fell out of his dead hand, she reached with the Force and seized it, hauling it to her own grip and whirling to face the other, now armed with two lightsabers. She broke into a burst of forward speed, and the man answered with a lateral slice of his lightsaber across where he expected her to be. She jerked to a halt and slid across the floor on her rump, passing him smoothly on one side as she brought her lightsabers across, and sheared through his legs two inches above the ankle and four inches below the knee simultaneously. She slammed the Force into the floor beneath her, launching herself into a forward somersault and back to her feet, wheeling around with both blades as the man fell bringing the twin blades in a cross-chop. One blade disconnected his head from his shoulders, as the other cut a two-inch-thick slice off the top of what remained of his neck, at the same time.

                “You little, I said fight them!” snapped the Inquisitor, infuriated as she killed not only one but both of those he had demanded she engage for her trial by combat.

                “I do not fight for fun, and I have not been trained to show mercy to weaklings,” replied N’Lola as she turned to face the Inquisitor, who scowled at her angrily, “You did not tell me you wanted the inept apprentices left alive.” His face chilled instantly to a cold expression, his eyebrows a solid horizontal bar, though the right one twitched with agitation as she made a perfectly legitimate point. The Admiral, to his left and six to eight inches further away, smirked smugly at his apprentice’s statement, his faith in her and in his choice to train her reinforced.

                “My apprentice seems to have passed your trial by combat,” the Admiral said forcefully, and the Inquisitor’s eyebrow twitched further with agitation, before he straightened.

                “Yes,” he admitted in gruff, grudging agreement, “your replacements have passed imperial inspection.” Then, he turned and stormed out of the cargo bay with his two remaining bodyguards, with intent to leave the ship as soon as possible to distance himself from the agitating fourteen-year-old.

                “Excellently done, apprentice,” the admiral said, “I will leave it to you to determine the distribution of those lightsabers we have acquired.” She bowed her head respectfully, knowing already where she intended to distribute the one thousand two hundred and two lightsabers that were now in need of new owners.

                N’Lola quickly assigned half of the lightsabers to Barabel soldiers, and half to Bpfassh soldiers, and ordering them to begin practicing and becoming experts with the use.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                For more than a year, N’Lola’s training continued peacefully, with no unusual incidents nor any particularly major interruptions. There was the oddity of several unexplained accidents that occurred on a monthly basis, after the incident with the Inquisitor, each of which causing a few deaths at a time. Since the visit of Inquisitor Jerrik, there had been four hundred and twenty-eight deaths throughout the fleet, ones that she couldn’t explain, but she been tasked to their replacement nevertheless. Virtually all of these proved to be communications personnel, as another oddity N’Lola could not explain, but she had chosen to replace all of them with Twi’leks. However it had happened, she had certainly benefitted from it, now able to ensure that she knew of all communications activity throughout the fleet. Even so, the admiral had been growing more suspicious with the passing months, and in particular, more suspicious of the Emperor. It was no secret the Emperor disliked having a Feeorin in command of one fleet, and a Chiss in command of another fleet, but they each had… talents, that made them hard to replace.

                The last several months had seen two major battles against what N’Lola regarded as third-party threats to the Empire: it wasn’t a battle against defectors, and it wasn’t a battle against the Rebellion. Even now, the fleet had been ordered to one of numerous uprisings that had begun near simultaneously: it was suspicious, as if some outside force had orchestrated such a thing. It was literally within the same five-day period that the uprisings had sparked on several worlds currently under imperial authority. A religious uprising had been initiated on Pergitor by the Church of Infinite Perception, an uprising on Zygerria as the Zygerrian Slaves’ Guild attempted to throw off the yoke of the Empire, and a corporate dispute between Rothana Heavy Engineering and a competitor had escalated into all-out war on Rothana. Additionally, a civil war had been sparked on the factory world of Bescane, between the supervisors, managers, and workers: the workers demanded more pay and cleaner atmosphere while the supervisors demanded worker pay remain the same but their own be increased, and that they be provided with finer offices. The management refused to consider either faction’s demands, according to the report N’Lola had received when the fleet received briefing communiques, and instead attacked the regions where the protestors lived and worked. When the supervisors’ faction counterattacked and the workers’ faction defended themselves, the managers’ faction had implored the Empire for assistance.

                For their part, the fleet had been ordered to crush the rebellion on Zygerria, perhaps because it was considered the most important threat, perhaps because it was considered the most dangerous threat, or perhaps because Palpatine wanted to get rid of a certain Feeorin admiral. N’Lola couldn’t tell which one of those it was or even if it wasn’t some combination of the three, she simply knew that they had been dispatched to handle the Zygerrians. As the fleet arrived in the system and slid out of hyperspace, N’Lola stepped into the admiral’s ready-room in response to his summons.

                “Ricona, the fighting on Zygerria is certain to be intense. I will not tolerate a loss, and as such, I am sending you to personally oversee the attack on the Zygerrian insurrectionist forces,” said Darth Fralius as he stood gazing out a window at the planet below. She could sense the radiation of his agitation and ire, though she could imagine no real reason for that: it was true, the Feeorin people’s adopted homeworld of Odryn was in the same quadrant of the galaxy as Zygerria, but the Zygerrians had never bothered the Feeorin.

                “Yes, Master,” she replied, in an appropriately subservient tone, “I will require command of the Annoo-dat Primes from the Intrepid.” The admiral simply nodded once in answer to the statement, and she sensed that he might have been pleased by her growth over the last three years and some months since he had taken the sixteen-year-old as his apprentice. She had grown stronger, remained deferential but more confident in asserting what she needed to have provided to her for the successful and satisfactory completion of her assignment.

                “Take them. The battle begins tomorrow, the Acclamators will be sent to land at 0700 hours,” he stated, and she nodded, turned on a heel, and exited the ready-room to travel immediately to the Intrepid to take command of the battle preparations.

 

                As the Acclamators sank from orbit into the atmosphere, ground-based defenses opened fire on the ships, but it was insufficient to destroy them or breach each ship’s shields. In an intimidating line, the six warships landed, with the Intrepid and the Eternity in the centre; on the Eternity’s half of the line were the Hammerhead and the Wilhelm, and on the Intrepid’s half, the Champion and the Cutter. Soldiers filed out in a sweeping mass that formed a massive line of battalions and companies, box-formations of soldiers preparing to launch an all-out full-scale assault across the Zygerrian mesa summit to attack an ancient fortress. It was intensely shielded, enough so that it would have been able to withstand a bombardment from space, and it would need to be taken by a direct ground assault. As the ships landed on the rim of the mesa, the imperial infantry poured out onto the mesa in a single impressive landing, with N’Lola at the front and centre. Surrounded by an eight-foot brick wall made up of reddish-orange scales, her own height of five feet eight inches looked small by comparison, though she was encouraged by the fact that most of the troopers placed under her command were similarly dwarfed by the Annoo-dat Primes.

                “You needn’t be concerned, Lady Vurkoth,” offered a man to her left, towering above her with a heavy tail behind him and a DLT-19 heavy blaster rifle in his hands, “we will ensure you have the clearance you require to fight unencumbered.”

                “Thank you,” she replied with a faint nod, glancing sidelong toward the eight-foot Annoo-dat Prime, a man named Ennaam Zhorak, drawing and activating her lightsaber as she prepared. It was true, she had never been on such a major battlefield as this was about to become; she was not frightened, though she was slightly nervous with it being her first time on the field. She was the technical leader, but she’d relied on the fleet’s tacticians to advise of an overall battle plan, and from orbit, they’d been able to see the enemy fortification far more clearly. It had a great wall around it, spreading across the mesa, with garrisons and armouries scattered through it, including on the wall, and as a result, they had been forced to deploy the Empire’s Self-Propelled Heavy Artillery units, of which each Acclamator carried three dozen. Each was of the SPHA-T variant, armed with a powerful turbolaser cannon meant primarily for the task of decimating enemy fortifications and obliterating enemy walls.

                “Move the SPHA-T’s forward,” she commanded, touching a headset mounted against one ear to address the artillery crews directly, “Destroy as much of the wall as possible, hit explosive munitions depots as soon as you have a clear shot to do so.” The army formations parted, and the massive walkers progressed in a line toward the wall, two hundred and sixteen of them in all. Even as the fortification-destroying walkers moved forward, she could see across the battlefield that the Zygerrians had prepared a response for them. Their fortress gates opened, and a massive host of walkers emerged, ones whose designed was well suited to countering them: All-Terrain Missile Platforms, a mech walker that the Empire itself used rather heavily.

                “Bring forward the PTL troopers,” she ordered into her headset, “lock onto those AT-MP’s and destroy them before they can eliminate our SPHA-T’s!”

                “Yes, Ma’am!” came the reply, and from the back of the formation where they were previously secure, two thousand storm troopers raced forward, each lugging a Mini-Mag PTL. Even as the walkers closed on each other, the SPHA-T’s lumbering slowly into range while the anti-vehicular defense walkers, comparatively, ran toward them as quickly as possible, they dropped to a knee, loading and activating their targeting scanners. Missiles flew from enemy walkers and bombarded the twelve-legged SPHA’s, disabling several before they were able to get in range to fire on the walls efficiently. Soon, flickers of red appeared on the targeting scanners of the imperial troopers, and immediately, a volley of homing missiles sliced across the battlefield, some twisting to move around the obstacle of one of the many disabled or destroyed SPHA walkers. Missiles slammed into the shields of the enemy walkers and knocked them back several feet in the process, teetering on the edge of falling as the troopers urgently reloaded and raced forward to close the distance. Meanwhile, the one hundred and forty walkers still mobile reached firing range, and began charging their main cannons as they aimed for the wall.

                Missile barrages ripped across the battlefield once more, though this time the enemy walkers targeted theirs on the turbolaser cannons themselves. The backlash of power caused several dozen explosions that temporarily blinded the Zygerrian ground combat pilots, and hundreds of walkers were left vulnerable long enough to be destroyed by the missile fire of the imperial troopers. For the moment, N’Lola could only watch the battle, moving the formation nearer to the enemy’s fortress as the missile troopers pushed forward, soon standing amidst the wreckage of walkers that had lost their legs to take up a more defensive firing position. Even as they did, they were joined by the crews who survived their walker’s crash into the surface, though now there only remained ninety-two SPHA-T’s that were still operational and mobile. As the line filtered through some of the legless walkers, N’Lola paused to consider them as the line halted anew, as the automated defensive emplacements on the wall rose when the last defensive walkers fell.

                The SPHA-T was massive, a fullness of four hundred and sixty feet long and roughly sixty-seven-and-a-half feet tall, but it was vulnerable to anti-artillery fire, as the Zygerrian missile platform mechs had demonstrated with an unfortunate level of clarity. Now, the walls themselves were a threat, even as the surviving walkers began to puncture it with massive holes, though it would take several shots to create an opening for the infantry to swarm into the fortress. She recognized the turrets that rose out of the wall: Bp.4 anti-vehicle turrets, and worse yet, Bp.2 anti-infantry turrets.

                “Hold back until the turrets are destroyed,” she instructed the infantry over the radio attached to her left ear, “missile troopers, acquire firing positions and take out those turrets!” Quickly, the storm troopers began scaling atop the wreckage of ruined SPHA walkers, and began targeting the anti-infantry turrets as blaster bolts lanced out across the battlefield at infantry and armour alike. N’Lola watched with a critical eye as several turrets were destroyed from the volleys of guided missiles, hundreds of missile troopers were killed by turrets, and still dozens more SPHA-T’s were destroyed by the turrets.

                “Attention Acclamator crews, lock onto the turret emplacements and fire torpedoes,” N’Lola ordered in her headset, as she remembered their torpedo launchers could be used in atmospheric combat. Seconds later, a volley of twenty-four brilliant flares of red energy whipped overhead and slammed into twenty-four of the anti-armour turrets, followed more than a minute later by a second volley that took out two dozen of the anti-infantry turrets. The walkers were down to thirty now, but there was a hundred-meter gap in the wall that went clear down to the dirt, which meant this would soon become an infantry battle. Even as the battle raged and volleys were exchanged, N’Lola could sense a massing of what was for her at this moment, an incalculable number of Zygerrian infantry personnel.

                “Get ready! The Zygerrian infantry are massing up to make a preemptive attack before we can press through the walls!” she warned into her headset, and imperial infantry battalions fanned out as widely as possible, maximizing the number of individuals who could be firing simultaneously. Some dropped to one knee with their rifles, allowing a second row behind them to fire concurrent to their own attacks, which N’Lola hoped would double the efficiency. As it was, thousands were dead between the destroyed walkers, missile troopers killed by the turrets, and those troopers who had advanced too near the turrets. Fortunately, the Annoo-dat Primes were watching her intently, following her lead precisely, and waiting for her to give them the attack order. Minutes passed, as the Zygerrian infantry within were gearing up for the counterattack, and brilliant red flares ripped across the sky to destroy an ever-increasing number of turrets, until a man’s voice came across the radio.

                “All torpedoes have been fired, Ma’am,” advised the captain of one of the Acclamators.

                “How many turrets remain?”

                “Thirty-seven Bp.4 and sixty-one Bp.2 turrets remain intact, Ma’am.”

                “Launch the gunships now!” she instructed, and moments later, a massive swarm of Low Altitude Assault Transports soared overhead as a second wave assault on the fortress walls, providing more targets than the turrets had the guns to fire at as four hundred and eighty of them raced toward the engagement. Even still, the turrets managed to turn hundreds of gunships into smoldering wreckage on the battlefield, turning it into a near maze of wrecked air and ground armour. Despite the best efforts of the automated turrets, however, the LAAT’s were armed with missiles of their own, and were able to drop hundreds of troopers on the walls, where they quickly aided in the destruction of the turrets.

                “All gunships away, Ma’am,” advised the same captain as before. She used the Force to lift herself up into a better position to see, atop one of the legless walkers, and noticed that there were no longer turrets on the walls, though fire from within the fortress was obliterating the remaining gunships. The battle was going to be a costly one, but she had already known that as she rode aboard the heavily armed troopship sweeping down to the mesa where the battle would take place.

                “Troopers, forward!” she ordered, then glanced toward the Annoo-dat Primes directly below her, and shouted to them without the headset, “Split evenly, take positions along the surviving sections of wall to either side, and shoot any Zygerrian soldier that tries to come through!” Ennaam nodded, made a sweeping forward gesture with one hand, and the earth below them shuddered, as the massive reptilian warriors were finally unleashed to charge into the battle. Already, imperial infantrymen and storm troopers were racing forward, pouring into the gap of the wall into a massive open space behind it, where the Zygerrians had formed up to wait for them. N’Lola used the Force to carry her from one walker-roof to the next in graceful, gliding leaps that spanned dozens to hundreds of feet. She ran across each one, before leaping forward again, proceeding nearer and nearer the front, the gap in the wall, and the Zygerrian forces that waited now engaged in a ferocious firefight with the imperial troopers. Their numbers were greater than she thought, she realized, as she reached the roof of the nearest SPHA-T to them, and then rushed forward again, leaping from the roof and gliding toward the brutal engagement just behind the wall.

                Corpses littered the battlefield by the thousands already, as she landed and brought her lightsaber around, to begin to redirect blasts toward the enemy when they started to target her. The lightsaber made her a target, but it also kept her secure, as she allowed herself to focus and draw together her energy, while the troopers around her began to fire more aggressively, their morale bolstered by her arrival. Even though it felt like hundreds died every second, on both sides, both Human and Zygerrian continued to fire, until Zygerrian morale faltered. The defending soldiers moved back quickly, pulling further into the fortress and taking up positions more defensible than standing in the open, though ones they would still be able to fire from. She pushed forward, leading an aggressive continuance of the attack, until she noticed more Zygerrian soldiers emerging from armouries, armed and ready for battle.

                “Fall back,” she ordered coolly into her headset.

                “But, Ma’am, the admiral,” began one of the troopers into his helmet-mounted communications.

                “…isn’t here right now.”

                “Yes, Ma’am!” came the reply, and the troopers began to pull backward, slowly backing up as they continued to fire, refusing to be utterly routed, though falling back precisely as instructed. She had not said ‘flee for your lives,’ nor had she said ‘retreat,’ and every trooper knew that meant he was expected to continue to fire, even as they started backing out of the Zygerrian fortification. Already, the battlefield was practically blanketed by the bodies of the dead.

                “Fall back to the gunship wreckage, use it for cover,” she ordered, and soon the last of the imperial troopers had crossed through the threshold of the wall, and were surprised to see the wedge-shaped firing positions that their reptilian allies had taken. Encouraged, they fell back more quickly, allowing N’Lola to create a wall of force ahead of herself before somersaulting backwards, withdrawing a hundred feet at a time until she herself was only sixty feet off the wall. Finally, energy crackled through her form in readiness, and she took a step forward so abruptly that it made every Zygerrian jerk back in surprise. Brilliant, blinding blue light filled her eyes, her facial features shifted smoothly from battle-calm to a mask of hatred, and she carefully coloured her Force Veil with the greatest volume of hate that she could focus on. Suddenly, pale blue smoke began to rise from every Zygerrian soldier she could see, as embers of cerulean heat crackled across their skin for a heartbeat before her attack simply dissolved a massive portion of their force. Horror filled the countenances of those who had survived the onslaught of her Deadly Sight, protected only by the fact that her vision had been unable to see them, several rows back from the firing line. The Zygerrians’ broke for a moment, just long enough for her to launch herself backward with the Force and cross through the massive hole that had been blasted in the fortress wall.

                As she landed, she nodded to the Annoo-dat Primes, who lifted charged rifles and prepared to fire, as N’Lola leapt backward again, landing another hundred and thirty feet nearer to the cover where imperial troopers waited on her arrival. Almost instantly, Zygerrians recovered their battle-morale as they saw her withdrawing, and swarmed out through the hole in the wall, where they were annihilated by the crossfire of her reptilian loyalists. As the Zygerrians within the wall watched their brethren be cut down like wheat by fire from enemies they wouldn’t be able to see until they passed through the wall, N’Lola saw the opening.

                “Ennaam, fall back to the walker wrecks!” she ordered, and without hesitation, the reptilian warriors bolted from their positions and raced toward the wreckage of the Zygerrian walks to take up new defensive positions. Again, the Zygerrians gave chase, though the Annoo-dat Primes were too quick and were able to take up defensive positions before the Zygerrian defenders could aim at them effectively.

                “Ricona!” came the voice of the admiral over the communications system. Inwardly, she groaned at having an imperial disruption.

                “Yes, Master?”

                “I sensed a massive disturbance in the Force,” said Darth Fralius, his tone making it clear he expected her to give him a response in a rather prompt manner. Her lightsaber hummed through the air, deflecting a blaster rifle’s shot as she used the Force to hurl herself backward once more, until she landed behind a wrecked Zygerrian walker husk.

                “I used the Force to… blast it!” she started, then jerked as a blaster rocket hit the walker she was behind and split the wreckage in half, launching a large portion over her head and ruining the wreck’s value as a defensive position. She quickly leapt forward, wheeling around toward the enemy and masking herself in a veil of anger as a bolt of green lightning ripped out of her hand and slammed into the Zygerrian rocket-soldier with fatal force. The admiral fell silent, perhaps realizing she hadn’t cleared the kill zone quite yet.

                “Fall back to the artillery wreckage!” she ordered into her headset, “Split into two sections and take defensive positions. Pull them in!” Quickly, the troopers complied, and soon she was the only one in the middle of the battlefield, her reptilian loyalists having obediently withdrawn as far back as possible while still being among the walkers, needing time to recharge their rifles and fire firing positions. She waited until she could sense them ready, and then she stepped into a position where the Zygerrians could see her. Zygerrian soldiers fired at her instantly, and she quickly swept out of their line of sight, agitating them into chasing her as they watched her run from one position to the next, further and further away from them, their deadliest enemy. They fanned out in a wedge as they wove between the ruined walkers, until they seemed to abruptly realize they’d not seen any of the imperial troopers for several minutes.

                “Now!” she ordered, when she noticed the Zygerrians had stopped, and pressed her back against the back of one of the legless walkers. Immediately, troopers emerged on both sides and reptilian riflemen lifted out of the grass at the far end, and tri-directional fire slammed into the Zygerrian formation, eviscerating the formation.

                “Ma’am,” came the voice of an Acclamator captain, “the Zygerrian garrison commander requests permission to surrender.”

                “Grant it,” she replied, turning to look across the battlefield as a massive white flag rose over the Zygerrian fortress, and she sighed in relief, feeling more than slightly dizzy from the expenditure of power. She didn’t know the exact number of Zygerrians who had died today, nor the exact number she had disintegrated with the deathly power she had been forced to use, and in the latter case, she was rather certain she didn’t want to know. Despite having eaten less than an hour before the battle began, she felt like she was starved and dehydrated, as one of her reptilian warriors approached.

                “Thank you for seeing to it that we survived, Lady Vurkoth,” he whispered softly to her, before turning and waving one massive hand.

                “Need a medic over here! Lady Ricona seems to be suffering battle fatigue,” he shouted, and soon there were several medical personnel rushing to assist her in her return to the Intrepid. On her return to the ship, medical personnel did a thorough examination to ensure her health, and by nightfall, had a report prepared for her.

                “Well, what’s the conclusion?”

                “Whatever you did, it seems to have had a catastrophic impact on your body’s natural resources. If I didn’t know otherwise firsthand, I would say you had gone ten days without food and two days without water,” replied the medical corpsman, “Whatever you did, I don’t advise doing it again.”

                “Casualty report?” she asked.

                “Ma’am, you should first take time to replenish your body’s resources.”

                “What’s your name?”

                “Tal Matan,” the physician replied.

                “I need to know the casualty report, Tal Matan,” she said firmly. He frowned, but nodded quietly in answer.

                “Imperial forces have been diminished by thirty-six thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight individuals.”

                “And Zygerrian casualties?” she pressed, and the doctor sighed. He knew she needed rest, but she was clearly not going to accept the instruction to rest until she had been provided with the information that she was demanding of him. Therefore, he felt he had no choice but to give her the information himself, if he wanted her to get into a bed on her own power instead of fainting for the second time that afternoon. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, then proceeded to answer her question.

                “The Zygerrian garrison commander has reported ninety-seven thousand four hundred and sixty-two dead, of which twelve thousand eight hundred and three bodies are unaccounted for,” he replied, “Ma’am, you should really get something into your system.”

                “Thank you, doctor. I do not feel well enough to eat right now,” she answered. Primarily, it was due to those numbers. It wasn’t so much that ninety-seven thousand Zygerrians had lost their lives, it was that absolute last number that bothered her: twelve thousand eight hundred and three unaccounted for, twelve thousand eight hundred and three dead whose remains had not been found and never would be. They were enemies of both the Empire and the Rebellion, enemies who were attempting to kill her, and yet, nevertheless, it bothered her, and made her sick to her stomach, to think of the sheer magnitude of it.

                “If the admiral inquires after me, please tell him that I am in dire need of rest,” she said as she slid tentatively off the table onto her booted feet once more.

                “It won’t be anything less than an absolute truth,” said the doctor as he nodded, observing as she wavered for a moment uncertainly on her feet. She was weak with nausea, hunger, thirst, and battle fatigue, right now, there was only one thing N’Lola desired: rest, and as she wavered on her feet momentarily, the doctor put his arm about her to steady the sixteen-year-old. He was, himself, a man of twenty-seven years aged, black-haired and hazel-eyed, having light complexion and dressed in the typical uniform of a medic. Six feet tall and two hundred pounds, he was notably well muscled, certainly more than physically capable of supporting the Bpfassh teen’s current, weakened condition.

                “Come on, I will take you to one of the vacated chambers,” said the medic, helping her to one of the Intrepid’s now unoccupied quarters, until she sat on the edge of the bed. She took a deep breath, releasing a sigh as the sound of the engines reached her ears and she felt the ship starting to lift off the surface of the planet. The hangars were empty, now, of all but the speeder bikes: every low-altitude gunship had been destroyed, as had every artillery walker. Each of the six ships had lost several thousand troopers, including a couple thousand storm troopers, as a result of the battle, but they’d given thrice-over as good as they got, or very nearly.

 

                “Captain Almazir,” said the admiral over the communications channel, “why has my apprentice not returned from your ship?” It had been several hours, and his apprentice had not returned from the Intrepid, though he had been waiting for her for quite some time. He wanted an explanation, and Captain Almazir was the one most likely to have a suitable answer.

                “Lady Vurkoth fell unconscious shortly following her return from the battlefield, then woke two hours later,” replied the thirty-seven-year-old Captain Domias Almazir, “She reported feeling unwell, and Doctor Matan took her to one of the unoccupied quarters. She lost consciousness again shortly thereafter, and has not yet awakened. Doctor Matan reports that his examination indicates her body has lost a critical amount of nutrition and hydration: her medical condition is comparable to someone who has not eaten in ten days and has not had water in fifty-three hours.”

                “I see,” replied the admiral, taking a deep breath to calm himself, and reminded himself that her absence was likely because it was her first time using a power as strong as the one he had sensed used on the battlefield hours ago, “See to it she returns to the Indomitable as soon as she is well enough.”

                “Understood, admiral,” replied the Captain.

                The following morning, the Captain walked to the quarters in which his lord’s apprentice was recovering and discovered that the medical corpsman Tal Matan was already there, stepping out of the door just as the captain stepped into the hallway. A man of six foot four inches and two hundred twenty pounds, the brown-eyed brunette captain was noticeably larger and more imposing of stature than the corpsman, and in the same kind of uniform that was worn by the admiral, if with obvious differences based on rank.

                “Is everything all right, Doctor Matan?”

                “Yes, Captain, it was simply a follow-up examination. I saw to it that she has eaten and rehydrated, and then escorted her to the bathing hall so she could cleanse herself of the blood and battle-dust.” He had also washed all of N’Lola’s clothes, but he doubted the Captain wanted to know about anything of that sort, and he would undoubtedly notice it as soon as he stepped in to speak with the admiral’s attaché.

                “Good man, making sure she is well-nourished and able to bathe in peace,” he praised with a nod. The twenty-seven-year-old nodded in answer and then quickly turned, returning to his other duties as the Captain tapped the button to ring the door. From where she sat, N’Lola stood and stretched her muscles, then took a deep breath before pressing a button on the wall between the quarters’ bedroom and entry room.

                “Enter,” she replied to the faint ringing tone that came when the Captain pressed the button outside the door, and at her press of a button, the door opened for him. The Captain stepped in, stopping as he saw her in the doorway between the two rooms, her clothes freshly washed and pressed, her gauntlet gleaming cleanly as if it had been washed and polished. She looked ready to go to war anew, if the need arose, and he offered a faint smile to the sixteen-year-old, suitably impressed by how she seemed to be handling things, though he had no inkling of what N’Lola had been through, as he was not Force-sensitive.

                “My Lady, the admiral wished me to inform you that your presence aboard the Indomitable is expected, once you are feeling well enough to make the transition,” the Captain informed her, “Although, that will not be possible for some time, yet, as we are presently in hyperspace, on our way to the Bonadan system.”

                “The Bonadan system, inhabited by Humans, and…”

                “The planet is home to approximately twelve billion residents, of which sixty-three percent are Humans. Of the remainder, eleven percent are Tiss’shar and eight percent are Hiitians; the remaining eighteen percent is diversely spread throughout Duros and numerous other species,” he answered, supplying the desired information. She nodded in answer, though she had a good idea of the reason why the admiral had set course for an imperial world instead of waiting for the Empire to assign new imperial soldiers to the ship: he intended to resupply the fleet himself, as usual.

                “Thank you, Captain Almazir,” she nodded in answer. As they arrived in the Bonadan system, N’Lola took a Delta-class shuttle and returned to the Indomitable, proceeding immediately to the admiral’s ready-room, knowing the Sith Lord wished to speak to her, and that a good apprentice would appear as soon as possible.

                “Ah, Ricona,” said Darth Fralius as she walked in, “Your recovery has gone well, I trust?”

                “Yes, Master,” she replied with a nod.

                “Excellent,” he said, “I sensed your hatred and your power; I felt the disturbance in the Force as you tapped into raw emotion. I did not think that you had the power to use Deadly Sight.” She could tell he was lying, attempting to challenge her or perhaps attempting to provoke a response, but she played to his pride, his self-confidence, and his expectation of loyalty.

                “Thank you, Master. It is all thanks to your excellence as an inspiration,” she replied. The admiral smirked in self-satisfaction at her choice of words, and she could tell that her Force Veil was continuing to be effective against him. He would sense nothing but the loyalty and submission that he expected and desired out of her.

                “We will be using the imperial forces on Bonadan to resupply and acquire replacement troops,” Darth Fralius continued, and she nodded subserviently.

                “Master, if I may make one small suggestion?”

                “Yes, Ricona?” came the calm response.

                “I did some research during our trip to Zygerria in advance of the mission, and I discovered somewhere that I think we could upgrade the fleet. The SPHA-T is large, and slightly outdated. If we replace those we lost with the smaller and more efficient SPMA, we can multiply our artillery load-out by a factor of six. The Self-Propelled Medium Artillery is armed with the same single turbolaser cannon as the SPHA-T, though it requires fewer personnel to operate and is both faster and more nimble on the battlefield. If we switch, we can upgrade from carrying two hundred sixteen heavy artillery units to carrying one thousand two hundred ninety-six medium artillery units. The relative investiture of manpower would increase slightly, but the combat efficiency of ground combat against enemy fortifications would increase by multiplying the number of siege cannons by a factor of six.”

                “That is an excellent idea, apprentice. I will instruct the Acclamator captains to replace the SPHA-T’s with SPMA’s,” he said with a nod of approval, “Do you have an opinion on the LAAT gunships?”

                “They served our needs on the ground exceedingly well, Master, and their support was vital to the Empire’s victory on Zygerria,” she replied, and he nodded.

                “I agree, and you made excellent use of them for your first time as a field commander. Not that I would have expected any less from an elite apprentice who butchered two of that condescending Inquisitor’s ‘finest warriors,’ of course,” he observed with a smug smirk. He was still pleased when he remembered the expression of Inquisitor Jerrik, infuriation mingled with stunned disbelief, and the grim resignation to the fact he could do nothing about it.

                “It will be your responsibility to interview a portion of imperial soldiers, graduating cadets, or combat-skilled imperial loyalists, who might wish to seek a posting within the fleet. I will be assigning Lieutenant-Commander Nuav, Lieutenant-Commander Xuax, and the Acclamator captains Kul Moath, Tilus Krand, and Mord Quen, of the Wilhelm, the Hammerhead, and the Cutter, to similar purpose,” he said, giving N’Lola her most recent orders and informing her of the names of three of his most trusted personnel after her and the Epicanthix twins.

                “Yes, Master,” she replied, and exited the ready-room at his dismissive motion with his hand, as most of the fleet entered the planetary atmosphere, while leaving the Lancers in a synchronous orbit overhead. It would take them a few weeks’ delay, but by the end of it, N’Lola and the Lieutenant Commanders had selected eighteen thousand four hundred and three of the replacements needed to replenish the ranks of the fleet, with seventeen thousand nine hundred and eight of those being Humans. The remaining four hundred and ninety-five were Chistori, mercenaries who proved their intense combat skill well beyond N’Lola’s minimum standards by demonstrating their ability to outfight a great many human opponents.

                Once they were underway again, one of the Twi’lek communications officers that N’Lola had selected as one of the replacements aboard the Indomitable came to her in private. A woman of five feet eleven inches and one hundred ninety pounds, with skin of a light shade of blue and conical ears, her name was Aerlas’enuia, though she more often replied to Aerla Senuia.

                “Lady Vurkoth, a private communique for you,” she said as she touched the ringtone for the doorway, then straightened her uniform shirt and waited.

                “Enter, Aerla,” she replied, moving to stand in the entrance room of her quarters, and motioning to a seat as the communications officer entered. Aerla quickly moved to sit, as N’Lola took a moment to tap into the Force, using it to veil their communications against potential incursion. The Force took on the task of acting as a sort of jammer to interfere with the attempt of any other Force-user to listen in on the conversation within.

                “I have received communiques for you, regarding a transition of loyalties among certain individuals aboard the fleet whose loyalties were previously aligned with the Empire, Lady Vurkoth. Specifically,” she continued, once the room had been made safe and N’Lola nodded to indicate she could speak, “the Brigade Commanders Trulus Ruun and Dorian Halk aboard the Eternity, and Brigade Commanders Aric Jurat and Rutlan Darr aboard the Hammerhead. Their communiques indicate that following the Battle on the Zygerrian Mesa, many of their men credited their personal survival to your actions, and in secret conference discovered that their entire brigades shared this sentiment. According to their communiques, they wish you to know that you will have their aid and loyalty above all others, as they regard your actions as having saved their lives.” N’Lola nodded in answer, and Aerla nodded in turn.

                “Also, there was a communique from Doctor Tal Matan, aboard the Intrepid. He requested an update on your medical condition. I took the liberty of assuring him that you are in optimal health at present; he seemed quite pleased with that information,” Aerla continued, and N’Lola nodded. If anyone asked why Aerla had come, she would inform them that she had simply been asked to deliver a message of well-wishing from the physician who had overseen her medical care immediately following the conflict on Zygerria. It would make for an excellent cover, a way to ensure it would draw no attention that the Twi’lek communications officer had come to see her, directly.

                Shortly thereafter, as N’Lola walked onto the bridge, one of the navigations officers tapped for several brief moments, before turning to look over his shoulder at the admiral.

                “Admiral, one hundred ships are exiting hyperspace, roughly one million kilometers starboard,” reported the navigations officer, “Forty C-3 passenger liners, sixty Ferryboat liners, admiral.”

                “We are receiving a communication from one of the C-3’s, admiral, text only. Orders, admiral, with imperial codes for verification,” followed-up a Twi’lek from one of the communications stations, “We are requested to escort these ships carrying imperial settlers to Rrulinn to colonize the planet. The Reslian Purge has ended, and the Empire wishes the planets recolonized immediately.” The admiral lifted an eyebrow, but he offered a faint sigh of exasperation at something that N’Lola could sense he felt was beneath him.

                “Very well, instruct the fleet to expand positions into a defensive formation. Order the colonist ships to take positions inside our formation and synchronize flight,” the admiral replied with a tone of grudging resignation. Albeit, he could concede that there was every probability they might require an escort for their safety: one hundred unarmed passenger ships would be a ripe target for any space-pirate or anti-imperialist faction, after all, with seventy thousand unarmed civilians aboard them. On the other hand, with an escort of nineteen heavily armed warships, pirates would be unlikely to consider taking on something so heavily defended. It would take them literally across the galaxy, from Sector S-2 to Sector K-17, which meant a lengthy assignment in escorting the passenger fleet.

                On the plus side, N’Lola observed, it gave her more time to study the admiral and to practice her lightsaber technique.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                By the time the fleet arrived at Rrulinn, it was one month after N’Lola’s seventeenth birthday; the fleet had been delayed several times over for reasons unknown to her. It had ultimately taken more than seven months, but once they finally reached their destination, they found Rrulinn the site of an imperial freighter carrying engineers to assist in the process of building a suitable first city and prepare farmlands and pasturelands for the colonists. Admiral Golm was more than happy to cut loose the passenger-liners and reform his fleet into their typical flight formation, following which he was given new orders.

                “Helm, set a course for Timora,” came the admiral’s instructions as he read his orders.

                “Yes, Admiral,” replied the sailor at the helm.

                “Ricona, I will have an assignment for you on our arrival.”

                “I shall prepare myself,” she replied, turning and departing the bridge immediately to make ready for another combative assignment. On their arrival the following day, she responded to a call to her Master’s ready-room.

                “Yes, Master?”

                “The Empire has learned through imperial loyalists that there seems to be a Dark Jedi operating on the planet, and recent reports from local imperial sources suggest that this individual is not the only one attempting to take control of the planet for themselves. You are to ferret out these would-be usurpers and exterminate them.”

                “As you command, Master,” she replied, turning on a heel and exited the ready-room, proceeding directly to the hangar and boarding a Curich-class shuttle and taking it out of the ship, proceeding down toward the atmosphere.

                _~Inform me of any unusual events amid the fleet while I am away,~_ N’Lola sent to Nuav and Xuax, right as she crossed the planetary threshold. As she proceeded toward the planet, she angled her movement toward the Timora Imperial Academy, landing before a crowd of dozens of cadets during their idle time, cadets she was barely older than, if she was indeed older at all. When the shuttle landed, it was approached immediately by a pair of simple, dark blue protocol droids, each armed with an electrostaff bearing a nonlethal charge. The droids moved to stand to either side of the exit hatch, facing out toward the cadets, whose eyes widened to stare in disbelief as a young woman from their own age group walked down, though she was clearly a Bpfassh.

                “Secure this shuttle. No one is authorized to board this shuttle without my express permission to do so,” she said as she turned her head to look over her shoulder at one of the F4KD droids. The droid stood at six feet eight inches in height, almost exactly ten inches taller than N’Lola did, with two arms, two legs, and a vaguely humanlike body, capped with a helmet-shaped headpiece. This headpiece had a horizontal visor four inches across and one inch in height, with a faint glow of dark turquoise light behind it.

                “Understood, authorization locked, protocol 177-9,” replied the combat-ready protocol droid, as the hatch at the back of the Curich-class shuttle closed. Almost immediately, three young men hurried up to her, though she could tell all three of them were younger than she was, as they clamoured for both her attention and the best position through which to examine the first imperial woman they had seen.

                “Is there something you require?” she asked, pausing and turning her head to look at all three of the youthful cadets somewhat critically. They seemed to be fourteen years old, with curly hair of light brown and eyes of the same, light-skinned, and another of them had eyes of green-yellow and hair having the blonde hue of the blossom of a jonquil flower. The third was black-haired with eyes of midnight blue, as light of complexion as both others, and clad in the same storm trooper cadet uniform. Not one of them was armed, as cadets, but they were all keenly interested in her. The brunette was the tallest of them, standing five foot six inches, though the other two were both likely five foot five inches, themselves.

                “Sorry, Ma’am,” answered the brunette of the three, “My name’s Errol Renfrew. I was actually wondering if I might be of assistance to you in some manner.”

                “My name is Kel Shira,” said the black-haired boy, in turn, “I wanted to offer my assistance, as well; I know my way around Tadarc real well. Errol was born all the way out in Radmac.” N’Lola looked at both of them intently for a moment, before turning her head and looking at the third expectantly.

                “Gaerin Kroth. Same motivation,” he said in response to her expectant gaze, earning a slightly raised eyebrow at his gruffer, more uncommunicative nature. A moment later, a fourth male approached, though this one happened to be quite decisively the elder of all four of them, as a man of fifty-three years. A Human with greying black hair and a light complexion with pale blue eyes, he regarded her intently for several seconds before actually speaking.

                “You must be N’Lola Vurkoth. I am Volthan Pate, Dean of the Imperial Military Academy of Timora,” said the man in cordial greeting, “If these young men are pestering you, I shall have them removed at once.”

                “That will not be necessary, Dean Pate. These young men have expressed their desire to assist the Empire by aiding me in the completion of my assignment,” she replied. Volthan looked to the young men intently, scrutinizing a moment, before a satisfied expression made his facial features decidedly more pleasant.

                “Quite an admirable initiative you cadets have shown,” said Volthan.

                “Indeed,” N’Lola agreed, “I will require each of them to be provided a blaster pistol.”

                “Of course, Lady Vurkoth, understood,” replied the academy dean.

                “And Dean Pate,” she added, “Not one of those chintzy DL-18’s.” The Dean paused, and she could sense the cadets, even Gaerin Kroth, struggling a moment to contain their amusement when the Dean seemed to be admonished by a girl not much older than them.

                “Of course, Ma’am,” replied the Dean.

                “Arm them each with a DH-18A.” The Dean nodded once more, then turned and departed, while N’Lola turned back to the three cadets, who looked excited to be receiving the armament of one of the Empire’s most modern military-grade firearms.

                “The mission is to locate and eliminate a powerful Dark Jedi, as well as to eliminate any other insurgents that might be operating on Timora,” she informed them, observing as they tensed a bit nervously in answer but were even still, readily invested in serving as her backup on the mission. A few moments later, the academy quartermaster arrived and, grudgingly, furnished a DH-18A blaster pistol to each of the young cadets, despite the fact that they were years from a potential graduation.

                “Ma’am, these three are some of the best students in the academy, but I,” began the quartermaster.

                “I am sure they will perform admirably, and that the experience they gain accompanying me on this mission will ensure they have an impressive career with the imperial military,” she replied. He looked relieved for a heartbeat, but then the gruff, six-foot-four-inch sixty-year-old covered it promptly. The man coughed into his hand, fixing dark green eyes on hers.

                “I was going to say,” lied the man, “I hope you bring the weapons back intact.” He turned quickly, precisely, on the heels of his combat boots, and walked off at the typically precise pace of a career soldier in his waning decades. She observed him for a moment, her left eyebrow briefly lifted, before turning her attention back to the recently armed cadets and letting her eyebrow lower as they holstered their weapons and strapped them in for security.

                “You will be expected to follow any and all instructions I provide, and this will likely be an assignment that lasts several days, possibly weeks. We will need to purge all insurgent forces from Tadarc,” she warned, and all three nodded. She was not going to bother with minor cities, or vast tracts of open land that sprawled across the majority of Timora, she only needed to worry about the enemies in the planet’s largest and most important city.

                “Understood, Ma’am,” replied Errol, and Kel nodded agreeably.

                “Kel, what is the finest hotel in Tadarc?”

                “The Ruan Hotel, Ma’am,” replied Kel subserviently.

                “Lead,” she said with a hand motion, and he quickly moved forward to lead the way for the young woman to whom he had volunteered his submission. The hotel itself proved quite large, probably one square acre and five floors tall, with a somewhat attractive white façade around the exterior. As they reached it, she retook the lead and proceeded into the hotel first, examining the ornamental hardwood décor, moving to the counter and pulling out her Imperial ID. The Empire would be billed for the services rendered, and she had no qualms about costing the Empire as many credits as might happen to be necessary to accommodate the needs of herself and three cadets.

                “Welcome, Lady Vurkoth,” said the clerk at the counter as he checked the young woman’s identification, “How may we help you today?”

                “One room with a single bed, one room with three beds,” she said, and the clerk nodded, turning and taking two keys from the wall as she turned her attention to the cadets, “You will be expected to conduct yourselves properly, and bathe daily. Coordinate your morning routine accordingly.”

                “Your room will be number 4-17, Lady Vurkoth. Room 2-13 is the room with three beds,” the clerk said, and she nodded, turning and handing the 2-13 keycard to Errol.

                “Yes, Ma’am,” replied Errol, the other two nodding promptly in agreement, though Gaerin’s nod had a more cordial feel to it.

                “As you command, Lady Vurkoth,” the jonquil-haired cadet replied. She could tell he was perhaps the most serious and ardent of the three of them. Perhaps Errol and Kel did not quite yet realize what it was they were getting themselves into, with their first experience with an actual assignment. Fortunately, none of them had brought anything in particular with them, so it would be easy to travel immediately to their first destination next, as soon as she figured out what that first destination should be. She exited the hotel until she stood in the street, closing her eyes and focusing a bit, extending her Force-sensitivity over a broader range than normal.

                A Victory I-class Star Destroyer was nine hundred metres in length on the longest dimension and around four hundred metres wide from the port to the starboard. It had a maximum height of less than two hundred twenty metres, including the tower-like structure in the ship’s aft section. The bustling city of Tadarc, small when compared to some of the great metropolitan centres on worlds like Coruscant, spread out over several kilometres, an urban sprawl which she was not accustomed to scanning the breadth of which. However, after nearly thirty minutes of concentration and searching, something pinged in her mind, and she looked immediately westward.

                “Kel, what structures in that section of the city would be compatible with a Force-user attempting to exert control over the planet?” she asked, indicating the direction she was looking. He turned his head obediently in answer, narrowing his eyes as he looked west, and considered her request intently for several moments.

                “There is the warehouse district, the sunpetal greenhouses, the…”

                “Yes. A Dark Jedi is going to be hiding out in a flowerbed,” interrupted Gaerin Kroth.

                “…the old Timoran senate building,” continued Kel, steamrolling the interruption calmly, “and a few slums, though they are rife with smugglers, cutthroats, thieves, and…”

                “All the worst elements of the criminal underground on Timora,” concluded N’Lola, nodding to indicate she understood where he was going with that statement. Kel nodded.

                “Yes, Ma’am, precisely so,” he replied, lips pulling faintly to the right with a concerned expression when he realized that was, in all likelihood, exactly where they were going to be headed.

                “Let’s go, then. Lead the way, I will tell you when I have a more precise idea where we’re going,” she replied. Kel nodded, tentatively, but if his feelings were timorous, his body was plucky, as he moved without hesitation to take the lead, and set out to her destination. Finally, she tapped Kel’s shoulder and he stopped instantly, looking at her over his shoulder and waiting until she pointed northwest of their position.

                “… I was afraid you’d say that,” he replied to the indication.

                “Great, one of the high-rise slums,” said Errol, unhooking the leather strap that secured the blaster pistol she had ordered him armed with, and placing his left hand on it cautiously as they proceeded in. N’Lola put her hand on Kel’s shoulder, giving a faint tug before moving in front of him to retake the lead from the Human cadet, who quickly unhooked his own blaster on his right hip and moved his hand to it. For his part, Gaerin Kroth had not shown any sign of knowing where he was, and N’Lola reasoned that he was either cool under pressure, a quick draw without needing his hand on the handle, or as oblivious as he was curt.

                “Hey, little girl, I think you and your boyfriends walked into the wrong part of town,” came a voice from the shadows of one alley tauntingly, between two six-story buildings that had become the core of this slum in particular. She looked out of the corner of her eyes toward the green eyes looking out at her from the shadow, her left eyebrow rising as her lips curled into a cautionary smirk. Her left hand abruptly jerked upwards, Force wrapped about the man, and she hauled him out of the shadows and into the light. The man had light complexion tinted dark by an exceptional tan, dusty blond hair in a shoulder-length ponytail, and eyes of forest green colour. She would have estimated him as twenty-six to thirty years old, as she held him four feet off the ground with a massive, invisible Force hand wrapped around his stomach. It wouldn’t inhibit his ability to breathe, but it’d undoubtedly serve as a suitable warning of who he was dealing with at the moment.

                “Let’s be clear,” N’Lola warned, “my name is Ricona, I am an imperial agent, I am not here for you. However, I will still kill you if you harass me or my squad.” The cadets each tensed at the unexpected demonstration of power, even the seemingly usually stoic Gaerin Kroth, whose eyes widened just the slightest bit. As she dropped the man on the pavement, he fell harshly onto his knees, but quickly shoved himself back onto his feet and bolted down the street, away from her. She tilted her head, then, as she abruptly sensed the presence and movement of her quarry, someone Force-sensitive had felt her activity and their emanations were already approaching.

                “Hide in that alley, get behind something and do not come back until I call you,” she instructed, looking over her shoulder at the three of them.

                “Yes, Ma’am!” replied Errol, racing into the indicated alley and quickly moving behind something that was large enough to conceal his presence.

                “Yes, Lady Vurkoth!” replied Kel, bursting into motion to follow Errol even before he reached the alley.

                “Lady Vurkoth, I can be of…”

                “ **Now** , cadet,” she cut off Gaerin, who flinched and grimaced, but quickly hurried into the alley, although he selected a hiding place that allowed him to continue to watch the fight by peering over it.

                Mere seconds later, the looming height of the Dark Jedi she had been sent to fight appeared; at two hundred twenty centimetres, he was almost seventeen inches taller than the seventeen-year-old Bpfassh. The Dark Jedi was a Kaminoan, having eyes completely black save for the smoky, dark grey irises and the same pale, grey-white skin tone, with a weight of one hundred ninety-four pounds. He was clad in black cotton in the form of ankle-length pants and a long-sleeved shirt, with a black leather belt, black leather vest, and knee-high boots of hard black leather. Attached to his belt was an unusually long lightsaber holster, from which he drew a lightsaber whose handle had a length of thirty-six inches, the polished metal surface having a glassy black sheen to it. It had a ring-shaped knot at either end of the handle, serving as the weapon’s pommel and cross-guard, as he activated it to release a lightsaber with a blade of one and three-quarter metres, making it a full seventeen inches longer than her own.

                Her jaw set as she drew her own lightsaber and activated it, the glow as red as the Kaminoan’s long-handled lightsaber though quite a bit shorter. She had chosen the standard length, which was going to put her at a considerable disadvantage against her newfound adversary.

                “I am Ricona,” she said nevertheless, with unfazed bravado, “and your delusions of world conquest die here.”

                “Confident little runt, aren’t you?” jeered the Dark Jedi, “I am Nulle Vu, and I shall break you as all others.”

                “Confident old ogre, aren’t you?” she offered in counter, and he replied with an agitated, deadpan expression. He spun his blade, in an exhibitionistic manner, as he leaned backward, before then lurching forward to charge in her direction, booted feet striking the ground firmly. As he raced toward her, N’Lola blinked once for an unusual duration, before bringing her lightsaber around, and the air filled with a deep hum as his blade slammed forcefully down against her own. She twisted out of her current position and leapt to one side, narrowing her eyes in concentration as N’Lola waited to see if she could spot an opening that could be exploited. More importantly, one she would be able to reach, as she calmly took to a defensive posture as he swung once more, and she blocked with her own. He snarled angrily at her as she allowed him to press forward on her, forcing her to give metres at a time as he pressed furiously against her, though curving her evasion to make their path an elongated slalom on the street’s pavement. Every time N’Lola moved, every two-second lull between his attacks, she focused, concentrated her power, and waited for him to make a fatal mistake.

                Five minutes into their battle, the Kaminoan paused to catch his breath and scowled at her, as he had proven unable to land a decisive strike. His every cleave or slash she blocked, every thrust or jab parried, she had more skill than he wanted to admit. Finally, as she waited in a defensive posture and seemed to have spent the entire battle in the process of examining him for some reason, he reached his off-hand in her direction. A wave of Force rushed towards her, though once more, she twisted from his path, and this time, she smirked faintly in answer to his decision to breach from pure lightsaber combat to an unrestrained confrontation. Now, however, she was faced with a complication that was indeed irksome: she had to split her attention between three separate tasks of the Force and a fourth task of facial expression. Her performance had to be perfect: anything less than utter perfection and she would be dead in very short order, she was quite certain.

                Her facial features transformed from a serene expression to a mask of rage breaking through, and she coloured her Force Veil with the impression of unbridled fury. Simultaneously, she extended her will and impressed upon every individual including her enemy that what they were about to see was not green but white. Then, her body moved in a snakelike forward lunge and her gauntleted right hand swept forward, electricity crackled, and a bolt of brilliant green lightning ripped forth from her palm and the Kaminoan’s eyes widened as he was hit by her lightning strike. The burst sliced past his defenses and slammed into his chest, hurling him backward through the air. Immediately, she charged, rushing forward and leaping into the air, a near-vertical jump accelerated and magnified by the Force, coming down on him with a cleave of tremendous strength. As he lay flat on his back, gathering his wits in time to move his hands in defense, she twisted her blade and cut between his hands, cleaving through the lightsaber to permanently deactivate it before shearing a gash in his chest clean through to the pavement underneath.

                The Kaminoan’s eyes widened as his lightsaber deactivated by force, seconds before his life was terminated by the gash that sliced his heart into two sections while incinerating nearly a third of it. Then, his body went limp and she relaxed her efforts, allowing false rage to fade back into the calmness of the battle’s aftermath, breathing heavily more from exertion than any attempt to curb a wrath that did not exist. It was, indeed, exhausting, to battle a Dark Jedi of such power and skill, while making certain to conceal virtually everything about the incident. She knew that Darth Fralius would know about her use of lightning, but with every observer who saw something other than white lightning arcing from her fingertips. None, certainly, had seen the brilliant sparkle of olive-drab green that had swept from her palm and the tips of all five fingers to debilitate the Kaminoan Dark Jedi long enough for her to kill him. Then N’Lola shook her head before standing upright and turning to look toward the alley.

                “Come on, cadets,” she instructed, before lifting her right arm to her face, tapping a button, and immediately opening a channel to the Indomitable, “Admiral. Attaché N’Lola Vurkoth, checking in.”

                “Progress report,” came the response through the auditory transmitter of her gauntlet.

                “Phase one has been completed: subject was a Kaminoan Dark Jedi by the name of Nulle Vu. Proceeding to phase two,” N’Lola reported, as the cadets approached, staring in disbelief at the massive enemy she had dispatched.

                “Excellently done,” he replied over the communications channel, “Our sensors registered an intense electrical disturbance.”

                “The Kaminoan was using a long-handled lightsaber. I used lightning to surpass his reach,” N’Lola replied informatively, her tone respectfully deferential.

                “Proceed to phase two of your assignment,” the admiral instructed a few moments later, “Imperial droids are being provided your coordinates and are being dispatched to dispose of the remains.”

                “Recommend security droid support. Coordinates are a wide street in a Timoran slum.”

                “Thank you for being attentive to the continued welfare of imperial property,” replied the admiral, and then the line went silent. She turned to the cadets, motioning the way they had come to Kel.

                “Lead the way back to the Ruan Hotel.” Kel nodded, and quickly proceeded to lead them in that direction, at haste, more than slightly eager to leave behind this part of town and hoping the next phase of her mission wouldn’t be one that carried them into a slum yet again.

                “Lady Vurkoth,” Gaerin spoke cordially, “I have a question.”

                “What is it?” she asked, giving an encouraging hand motion.

                “What is the second phase of your assignment on Timora?”

                “Ascertaining if rumours of an armed, militant insurgent presence on the planet are unfounded, exaggerated, or genuine,” she replied.

                “And if they are legitimate?” queried Errol.

                “I am to determine their whereabouts, enter their planetary headquarters, and exterminate them,” she replied, “Don’t worry. I will leave some for you to shoot, for the sake of your own personal glory.”

                “Excellent,” replied Gaerin Kroth enthusiastically, “I shall look forward to purging some rebel vermin from Timora.” It was a good thing her face was turned away from them, as her eyebrow twitched at Gaerin’s commentary. He was going to make her true goal here quite considerably more difficult, despite his scant fourteen years of age and total lack of Force-sensitivity. Nevertheless, when they returned to the hotel, she focused her attention on the triad of cadets.

                “You are not to leave the Hotel under any circumstances. However, until I notify you otherwise, you are free to spend your time in whatever manner you wish.”

                “Thank you, Lady Vurkoth,” replied Kel Shira.

                “Thank you, Ma’am,” replied Errol Renfrew.

                “Ma’am, should we not be…” started Gaerin Kroth.

                “Searching for the militant insurgents? That is precisely what I will be doing, cadet, in which task you cannot assist me,” said N’Lola firmly in answer, “I selected you primarily for your ability to follow orders, and your continued presence here is contingent upon that. Continue to question my every decision as opposed to doing as told when told to do it, and I will summon the quartermaster to retrieve you with a recommendation for your immediate dismissal… assuming, of course, that I do not simply decide to kill you.” Gaerin Kroth tensed at the threat, eyes widening a bit in a sudden nervous response, and N’Lola felt a spike of fear from the young, hardline imperial loyalist. She smirked at him faintly, eyes narrowing critically, veiling her inner serenity with an outward appearance of intensifying agitation. Her gauntleted right hand lifted, and the young cadet immediately backed up, lifting his hands in submission.

                “Apologies, Ma’am,” he said quickly, “Please forgive my impertinence.” In answer, her piercing violet irises bored into him threateningly as she examined him critically, but sensed only truthfulness and renewed submission as he realized that if she chose to kill him, there were few if any who would have contested it. She was, after all, a Sith apprentice, and he had already been interviewed by an Inquisitor because of his unusually high skill, though his skills were entirely natural and came from dedication and hard work.

                “Once,” she warned darkly, “you have one remaining opportunity.” She turned and exited the room, climbing the stairs and entering her personal suite. There, N’Lola shut and bolted the door, removed her shoes, and crossed to the bed, where she sat and crossed her legs, then focused on the Force. Her form hovered from the bed sheets, which straightened beneath her as she rose to float sixteen inches above the bed, her eyes closed, upturned palms held out to her sides with fingers crooked in relaxation. She extended her sensitivity and searched for those who were opposed to the Empire’s rule, those who would actively work to disrupt the Empire’s business or would actively take arms against them, dissenters either militant or otherwise. Almost immediately, she sensed the true hearts of Errol Renfrew and Kel Shira, below, but she soon picked up an increasing number of persons of variable dissent beyond the walls of the hotel. For more than eleven hours, she opened herself to the Force and allowed it to guide her thoughts and her senses, until she found what she was looking for.

                Thereafter, she bathed, slept, and ate, in that order, culminating in a large, full breakfast with the three young cadets, though they ate in silence. By the ninth hour past midnight, the three cadets reported to the hotel’s lobby, ready to proceed with the day’s assignment, though as they stepped out of the building, N’Lola was hit by a sudden wave of intuition and her sight faded. She closed her eyes, and saw something entirely different from the bright morning sun, felt something utterly unlike the warmth of the sunlight. The sun turned black, day turned into night, and like a radar, her Force-sensitivity pinged on dozens of individuals, her sight abruptly sweeping through an unfamiliar part of Tadarc in an arcing spiral that revealed the position of armed militants. For several minutes, she stood stock-still and nearly breathless, before her body shuddered and she blinked, finding young Errol Renfrew standing in front of her with one hand on her shoulder.

                “Ma’am?” came the question, “Ma’am! Are you all right?”

                “Yes,” she said, shaking her head to clear her mind at the unexpected vision that had been shown her by the Force, “I simply sensed a minor disturbance in the Force. Kel, lead me back to the academy, there is additional gear we will require.” Once they arrived, she proceeded directly to the academy’s armoury, from which she requisitioned four grenade belts, placing six detonite incendiary grenades on each, accompanied by two chepatite impact grenades. Once the belts were prepared, she held one out to Kel Shira, who immediately accepted it and unhesitatingly strapped it on, an action mimicked by Errol Renfrew when she held the second out to him. As she held the third out to Gaerin Kroth, he swallowed nervously, and she could tell he was thinking she intended to blow him to smithereens with them.

                “You are going to need these to exterminate hordes of rebel scum,” she said, and he sighed in relief, taking the grenade belt and strapping it on while she proceeded to strap on her own. Finally, her grenades strapped in place, N’Lola requisitioned an NGZ-9118 heavy carbine blaster rifle and a reserve power cell to bring the number of shots she would get out of it from one hundred to two hundred. The carbine held in one hand, she touched her gauntlet’s button, activating the communications channel.

                “Admiral, phase two is underway. There will be some unfortunate but unavoidable demolitions occurring in the warehouse district. I have discovered a large number of criminal insurgents lurking therein, and I am on my way to eliminate them now,” she said.

                “I shall notify Governor Kron of the regrettable development that rebels are using Tadarc’s warehouse district for a headquarters,” the admiral replied, though she could sense there was a dark humour in his tone, if hidden deeply. For a few hours, she delayed, waiting for the sun to near the horizon, before nodding to indicate it was time to set out on their mission.

                “Let’s go hunting,” N’Lola said firmly as she strolled out, quickly followed by the three cadets, two nervous and one far more excited than he allowed himself to demonstrate. In truth, she was not planning to move immediately toward her actual destination, but rather to first intercept the ambush her vision had warned her about, within the city’s extensive warehouse district.

                “Lead the way, Kel. Our destination is the warehouse district,” she instructed, and Kel nodded, before quickly leading the small squad in the direction of the instructed sector of the city. He jerked to a halt when she put her hand on his shoulder as soon as they reached it, allowing her to retake the lead and track the landmarks of her vision to the intended location. Once they arrived, she paused and sensed that they had reached the position she had seen when she had received the Force Vision, and took a moment to look around. Then, she removed four detonite grenades, stealthily moving to four precise locations and activating the reactive detonation protocol into each of them. Next, she quickly moved around to the warehouse’s other entrance, taking four of Gaerin’s grenades and activating similar protocols in four additional locations.

                Thereafter, she entered the warehouse and selected eight further locations, and placing eight more detonite grenades with the same reactive detonation protocol. The cadets looked at her oddly, but did not contest her decisions for where to place the grenades, trusting that she had a plan and knew what she was doing. Once all sixteen of those grenades were spread out as mines, she brought them to an area of heavy metal crates filled with nonexplosive mineral ore, and used the Force to rearrange them into a G-shaped barricade. She stacked some of the metal crates above their own height, though she created three firing positions stacked four and a half feet tall with a set of three eighteen-inch-tall durasteel boxes.

                “Ma’am?” asked Kel, as she created the semi-enclosed space, having enough room for the three cadets to fire in three directions.

                “Remain calm, cadet, remember your training, and use your grenades only when you can see the pigment of your nearest enemies’ eyes.” At that, the three cadets nodded, as N’Lola sensed the approach of the soldiers she had seen in her vision, foot soldiers of the syndicate that called itself the Black Sun. Even as they approached, their soldiers took up perimeter positions precisely where her vision had shown, unwittingly perilously near the mines N’Lola placed to counter that, but she waited. As they secured the perimeter, still more took up firing positions inside the warehouse, selecting positions dangerously close to the other mines she had placed, to which they were none the wiser. Still, she waited as she stood with her back against one of the heavy metal walls of her manufactured barricade, NGZ-9118 held in her left hand and her head turned in that direction, looking out of the gateway that she made. Finally, all the pieces were on the board, with four men within the kill radius of each explosive mine, and dozens more waiting nearer than that as they waited for targets.

                “Make this easy on yourselves,” called a voice from a dozen metres, “I promise we’ll shoot you in the head to make it quick!”

                “Tempting,” replied N’Lola sardonically, “However, I have a counteroffer.”

                “I’m listening.”

                “Leave now, and your men keep their lives.”

                “Are you hiding an entire platoon in there?”

                “Nope,” she replied cheekily, “three cadets and an imperial attaché.”

                “… seriously, that’s it?” came the incredulous response, bewildered that he had been sent with so many men to kill three academy cadets and an imperial attaché. She almost felt sorry for him, for the fact he would die without even knowing the reason behind his death, though in fairness, she didn’t know why he was going to die tonight, either.

                “That’s it. Last chance, leave now and I promise not to kill you,” she replied sincerely. If he fled now, if they all did, she wouldn’t kill them, but she knew three teen boys and an imperial attaché weren’t going to intimidate them into surrender, much less full-scale retreat. The boys looked toward her quizzically, and she lifted her right eyebrow at them as they drew their pistols and pressed their backs against the walls beside their chosen firing positions.

                “These aren’t the rebel scum. They’re just Black Sun thugs,” she informed the cadets with a harsh whisper, “the rebels would want to capture us to interrogate us, most particularly me by threatening to torture you to death if I failed to provide information.” It was a colourful lie, but an efficient one.

                “I am sorry, kids, but our orders are to kill you. Maybe if you had a platoon, we’d consider your counteroffer.”

                “I am sorry, too,” she said with a sigh of feigned reluctance, “I really didn’t come to Timora just to kill off a couple hundred Black Sun foot soldiers.”

                “Move in!” commanded the voice, and black-clad troops moved in with precision tactical manoeuvres, which was almost impressive, in a way. They had organization and training, but so did the three cadets, who immediately set to firing their pistols as soon as they saw any. Surprisingly, both to her and the thugs coming toward them, the cadets were able to hit the moving targets with precision hits to the throat, skull, or upper torso, any of which inherently fatal, and a handful of them fell dead immediately. As enemies moved into her own line-of-sight, her left arm moved, her finger squeezed gently, and the air filled with the repeated sound of a loud, heavy thump as she fired multiple times. Each shot struck a target, throwing him a half-dozen feet backward and boring a hole in his chest or throat two inches in diameter, leaving him to land flat-out on his back, dead before reaching the warehouse floor. Even still, the Black Sun operatives were moving forward, and Kel grabbed one of his grenades, hurling it out toward a half-dozen soldiers who bore the Black Sun insignia on their chest.

                As the grenade wobbled through the air, she reached with her right hand and exerted the Force, detonating it midair as one of the soldiers attempted to catch it, killing all six that Kel had aimed for. A half-second later, the eight detonite mines nearest them exploded, instantaneously vapourizing thirty-two men as the detonite explosion triggered the reactive detonation protocol of the nearest mines. A heartbeat after that, the perimeter mines exploded, incinerating another thirty-two of the thugs, spiking their casualties by seventy in the span of under ten seconds. All three cadets rotated their bodies and slammed their backs into the protective metal in answer to the unexpected sequential flashes of fire and shaking their heads, covering their eyes. She reached, activating one of Gaerin’s mines and one of Errol’s as she hauled them out of their grenade belts and hurled them out toward the enemy soldiers, who were still hurrying forward to engage, killing a further twelve of their number in the process. There was a moment of silence throughout the warehouse, thereafter, as the combined explosions had killed nearly every syndicate foot soldier in the building. It simultaneously ripped chunks from the outer walls around both entrances, creating a hundred-foot-wide, thirty-foot-tall arc in each wall.

                “Send in the rest of the company! Several platoons have been killed!” ordered the Black Sun capo, and she felt the life-energies of dozens more men approaching. Using the Force, she leapt up in the air to land on top of one side of the durasteel-crate enclosure, giving her a panoramic field of vision. She immediately pulled the last detonite grenade and used the Force to catapult it toward one of the enemy’s firing positions before they realized she had taken a new position, firing on it as it neared them. As the blaster round hit the grenade it detonated, inflicting fatal injuries on four more Black Sun gunmen before she wheeled around and began firing down on enemies in another portion of the warehouse. As dozens more men flooded in and took up firing positions, the cadets laid down covering fire which prevented them being able to stand anywhere that allowed them to fire directly on N’Lola.

                As she watched them take up positions where they could exchange fire with the cadets without being in her line-of-sight, she used the Force to sense their precise positions. She could sense them massing up in positions outside the range of the cadets’ ability to throw their own grenades, though they had used all but their chepatite grenades, by this point. Fortunately, the Black Sun thugs were unaware that the only grenades they had left were ones that needed to go quite a bit further than the boys could fling them. She took a breath and pulled both chepatite grenades from her grenade belt, using the Force to hold them in the air as she pulled the last grenades from each cadet and hovered them up as well. Then, she used the Force to catapult the grenades one at a time in a wide spiral around them, launching the grenades with enough strength and velocity that any impact would detonate them. As each one reached the target, the device exploded, incinerating six men in a fireball having a twenty-foot radius, leaving pools of melted durasteel and ash from the men and whatever had been inside the metal box, in the explosion’s wake.

                “Lady Vurkoth!” whispered Kel harshly up to her as he crouched defensively behind a wall underneath her, and continued as she glanced briefly down at him, “My blaster is expended.” The DH-18A was powerful, and most of their shots had killed someone, but they would drain a power cell in fifty shots, and unfortunately, the boys did not have flawless accuracy. Still, between the grenades and the cadets’ efforts, they had killed two hundred and ten soldiers of the Black Sun syndicate, though N’Lola’s carbine was still half-charged. She had already fired fifty shots, but each of hers had killed a man, as she had been using the Force to amplify her accuracy by a tremendous margin. There were only thirty men left within four hundred metres of the warehouse, and she ran across the top of the crates, leaping and gliding gracefully with the Force as she began to sweep for the last of the Black Sun’s thugs. Her sailing leap caught them unaware, and with a sequence of deep, heavy thumps, she exterminated them in groups of four or five at a time, until she heard the sound of the capo’s voice anew.

                “I don’t know who you are, but come out now or the cadets die,” he shouted, and as she turned her head and honed her senses, her serenity rippled with the realization that a handful of Black Sun thugs had managed to sneak in around her movements to get themselves into bargaining position.

                “All right,” she replied, moving to where they stood out in the open, nine in all, six of them having a pistol to the head of one of the three cadets. She slung her carbine over her back and lifted her hands as she walked out into a position where they could see her, drawing together her power as she masked her countenance with the expression of intense resentment, colouring her Force Veil with the same emotion. For a heartbeat, N’Lola closed her eyes while the power charged, before opening her eyes and focusing on the twelve males ahead of her, selectively excluding the three cadets.

                “You shouldn’t have done that,” she warned, colouring her voice with a tone of absolute loathing, even while she could sense the approach of the rebels she had sensed during her meditation. They were curious why the imperials were not responding to the sudden explosions that woke the entire city, and six men were running through the alleys in between the warehouses, coming as stealthily on the damaged warehouse as they could. Finally, she took a breath, convinced the minds of all three cadets that when they saw blue they were actually seeing red, and channeled her calm concentration on her objective. Blue power filled her eyes, a pulse-like sound rippled the air, and the nine Black Sun foot soldiers began to crackle with cerulean embers as pale blue smoke rose from their bodies. Tentatively, nervously, the cadets turned toward the men as they heard their pistols clatter onto the warehouse floor, eyes widening in disbelief as the nine men spontaneously dissolved on the spot. Gaerin Kroth’s eyes widened, his muscles went limp as he was overwhelmed by the realization the seventeen-year-old had just essentially vapourized nine men with her vision alone, and fainted standing.

                “Errol, catch Gaerin,” she ordered weakly, as her body swayed with weakness as the aftermath of the power consumed a massive amount of her physical strength, and waves of hunger and thirst slammed into her. However, this time, N’Lola felt no nausea: dissolving nine thugs was proved infinitely more palatable than thirteen thousand, no matter how thankful entire brigades of infantry had been to her in the aftermath of that. Errol immediately jerked from his own disbelieving stay to seize hold of Gaerin’s shirt as the other fourteen-year-old simply fell backward from his standing position, slowing it enough to lay him down easily. His knees slammed into Gaerin’s stomach as he fell onto him, though the unconscious cadet made no response to such an impact. He looked up toward N’Lola, and Kel abruptly noticed the same as Errol, hurrying to stabilize the seventeen-year-old: the last time had been in the heat of battle, and the associated adrenaline rush had counteracted her weakness. Here, she could now be certain they were safe enough that she did not need to remain anywhere near as energetic as she had on the battlefield.

                Mere seconds later, they heard the sound of boots on the warehouse floor as four males and two females soon raced up to them, each armed with a blaster rifle. Three of the males were Human, at ages she would have estimated as nineteen, twenty-eight, and forty years; the youngest and eldest were black-haired, the younger with dark blue eyes and the elder with emerald green eyes. The youngest of their number was five feet eight inches tall, just slightly shorter than N’Lola, the while the eldest of their number was six foot two inches, about a third of a foot taller than she was. The twenty-eight-year-old had dark brown hair and matching eyes, five foot eleven inches and one hundred and ninety pounds, around twenty pounds heavier than the younger on and fifteen pounds lighter than the elder was. All three Human males had the same light complexion, suggesting they were local or from the same planet, not that it mattered much to the light-grey-skinned Bpfassh teen. The fourth male was a Twi’lek of likely twenty-four years, handsome in several aspects, with a complexion of gamboge orange and standing six foot eight inches, two hundred and sixty-five pounds of corded musculature.

                One of the females was also Human; a tan-skinned girl of eighteen years, she was five foot eight inches and one hundred forty-eight pounds, with reddish-brown hair and cerulean-blue eyes. It was the last member of the squad, however, that got N’Lola’s attention the most: a Leyakian. She was six foot three inches tall and a well-muscled two hundred thirty pounds, with irises of dark tangerine set against a hairless complexion of dusty yellow-green common to her species. Her head was wide with a flat face that lacked a nose, with a sharp inward angle beneath the eyes where it narrowed to the mouth, though with a humanlike chin. From the back of her head were two tentacles reminiscent of those found in a Twi’lek, albeit in a Leyakian they came to a flat ending and were no more than chin-length in all, but housed both auditory and olfactory sensory organs. On her head, she wore the traditional headpiece of her people: an oddly shaped metal cap that had a forward dip between the eyes, curving up and outward to either side over the eyes before stopping even with the wearer’s pupils, then going straight back. It was two-toned, wide rimmed with a golden-yellow pentagon in the middle, which came to a pronounced V shape in the front, and though N’Lola knew that many Leyakians wore it, in fact, every adult she had ever seen did, she didn’t know the reasoning behind it.

                “Freeze, imperials!” shouted the Leyakian woman.

                “Watch who you’re calling imperials,” N’Lola replied with a soft huff of breath leaving her lungs as she did, catching the Leyakian rebel by surprise.

                “…excuse me?”

                “Selene,” she breathed the word softly, and all six members of the rebel squad jerked reflexively in response, their eyes widening in surprise.

                “Apologies, Lady! We did not recognize you,” said the Leyakian woman, immediately slinging her own rifle over her shoulder, as the two cadets stared blankly in consternation.

                “Errol, Kel. Your loyalties are not with the Empire. These people will take you into the rebel underground, and will see to it you are provided with safety and a continuance to your training,” N’Lola replied to their blank stares. She took a breath, tapped into the Force, and removed the names the two boys knew from their minds, replacing those two names with her chosen codename.

                “Thank you,” replied Errol, as his eyes refocused after she pulled her conscious back from his own, protecting the secret of her identity by removing the names from his recollection, all but Selene.

                “I am Se Kreff,” the Leyakian woman said as an introduction, stepping forward to greet N’Lola with warmth, “We had heard of an ally in the Empire, but I had not thought it to be a Jedi.”

                “I am not a Jedi,” she replied weakly, “I am an enemy of the dark-siders, and an enemy of the Empire’s evil.” The Leyakian woman nodded, and looked to the unconscious cadet as Kel continued to support her while Errol had moved in with the rebel squad.

                “What about him?”

                “He remains with me, he is a hardline loyalist who has yet to learn the truth of the Empire’s brutality, or else he simply does not care,” she replied, and Se nodded in response.

                “Understood,” answered Se, “Is there anything you need?”

                “Something to drink, and something to eat,” N’Lola said in reply, “I just used up an immense amount of my energy, and I still need to get this one back to the hotel.” Immediately, the Human girl hurried forward with a canteen, and produced a wrapped bar from her gear, extending the canteen to her. N’Lola’s Force reserves were weak, but she could sense no hostility, and took a drink of the clean, clear water, providing herself the urgent rehydration she needed. It was only a start, she would need quite a bit more to recover fully, but it was a start in the right direction. It would at least be enough to prevent her falling into a near-comatose state from thirst and hunger. Then, she took and unwrapped the energy bar, which was a combination of dark chocolate, coconut, and peanut, enriched with sugar and salt, which would replenish at least some of her nutritional deficiency quickly. The use of the power had lightened her body by a few pounds, though she knew that was something she could compensate for in the next few days. It was always easier to put weight on than it was to take it off.

                “Thank you,” she replied, looking at the Human girl intently for a moment, until the slightly older girl smiled and nodded in answer.

                “I had not thought to ever meet an ally so deeply entrenched within the Empire’s ranks,” she answered with an expression that told N’Lola the other young woman did not envy her in the least. Finally, revitalized enough to take on the last bit of responsibility she needed before she could truly rest she straightened and allowed Kel to move away, mingling in with his unintentional rescuers.

                “What is a Leyakian doing so far from Leyakia?” she asked, as she focused on eating the bar and recovering enough energy for what she needed to do.

                “Leyakia is a rainy, wooded world located in the N3 sector of the grid. Timora is a dry, grassy planet within the G16 section of the grid. Can you think of anywhere they’re less likely to look for a Leyakian rebel captain?”

                “No, I suppose not,” she agreed, then looked toward the gaping holes in the warehouse, “Now, go, quickly, before imperial reinforcements come in search of me.” With one quick final nod, the six rifle-armed fighters and two defecting cadets raced from the ruined warehouse, vanishing out into the darkness as she turned to Gaerin. She moved toward him, crouching to slide her hands underneath him before lifting him in her arms, turning, and starting to traipse weakly back from the warehouse district in the direction of the hotel from memory. An hour later, he groaned in her arms as they passed from the warehouse district into the well-lit street and found himself looking up at her.

                “Lady Vurkoth? What happened?”

                “You fainted when I defeated the last of the Black Sun thugs I could see. I went to check on you, and when I did, I lost track of Cadet Renfrew and Cadet Shira,” she lied informatively, “I knew I needed to get you out of there before more Black Sun militants could arrive, so I was forced to leave their bodies behind. I can only hope your fellow cadets will make it safely back to the academy on their own.”

                “Thank you, Lady Vurkoth,” he replied as she continued to carry him in her arms, amazed by her strength, as he wasn’t that much smaller than her at all, “I think… I think I can walk now.” She nodded, lowering one hand to drop his feet to the ground, and he quickly straightened and righted himself, as a set of security droids appeared ahead, coming in their direction. Finally, N’Lola was able to sit as a police droid piloted a speeder-bike up to them, having the unique variation of four seats in the back, two on either side against each other. Ferrying them back to the Ruan Hotel, he recorded N’Lola’s official report on the sequence of events, but soon enough, both N’Lola and the cadet had returned to their rooms for a vital night’s rest.

                The following day, N’Lola focused on her own rest and recuperation, taking no strenuous action and eating large, hearty meals to make up for what the use of that ability had cost her. Thereafter, she spent several more days in feigning an exhaustive search for rebels to no avail, then prepared to say farewell to Gaerin Kroth.

                “Lady Vurkoth, do you think they are dead?”

                “I cannot say for certain, Cadet Kroth,” she replied, “They may have been captured by the Black Sun, or they may have been kidnapped by slavers.”

                “Do you… think it’s my fault?”

                “No. They knew as well as you did the risk involved in requesting to assist me, and you performed admirably, I think,” she replied reassuringly, “And it is good that you were inquisitive, by the way.”

                “…but you said…”

                “You must not question your commanding officer in the middle of a battle, or in the middle of a mission, but outside of that, it is right for you to ask questions, to enhance your understanding of what is going on.”

                “Yes, Ma’am,” he nodded, as comprehension dawned on him, “Thank you.”

                “You’re welcome. Just remember, it is also important to know when to shut up and realize someone may opt to kill you if you pester them with too many questions,” she warned, “Question cautiously, answers do very little good for a dead boy.” He nodded, and then she turned and walked away, leaving him to his remaining years as an academic cadet, and hoped her words would sink in and bring him to the rebellion. As she headed back to the hangar, she tilted her head faintly as she heard a voice in her mind.

                _~A Myke has somehow snuck aboard the Indomitable. He is one of Palpatine’s Dark Side Adepts, and means to challenge Fralius,~_ came the voice of Nuav. She nodded, and hurried swiftly back to the Indomitable, racing toward the place where she could sense the Feeorin Admiral’s presence in the hangar.

                As the doors whirred opened, her face transformed to a mask of fury, her Force Veil transitioned to match it, and her entire frame rose in the air. Bounding through the opening door, one foot struck the edge of the railing three floors above the hangar floor as she drew and activated her lightsaber. As she leapt forward, she used the Force to let her glide gracefully through the air, sweeping in from overhead as the admiral turned in surprise toward the Myke that had started to approach him with lightsaber drawn. She came down hard, her lightsaber cutting the air as she disrupted the Dark Side Adept’s attempt, forcing him to jerk backward in a defensive posture. As his lightsaber rose to defend, N’Lola’s came down on the offense, and the force of their clash filled the entire hangar with a deep, resonating hum; a moment later, the Myke stumbled backward from the force of impact as her feet landed on the hangar floor.

                “Get out of my way, whelp!” shouted the Myke, rising infuriated to his full height of an utterly unimpressive six feet and one hundred eighty pounds, only slightly taller and, incidentally, slightly lighter than her. Now five feet ten inches and one hundred ninety-five pounds with a taut musculature clearly demonstrated by her right upper-arm, N’Lola had grown into a powerful combatant.

                “You are unworthy to battle my Master, cowardly worm!” she snarled, colouring her voice with indignation and rage, matching it to the facial expression and the emanations of her Force Veil in the process. The grey-eyed and gaunt-faced man glowered at her, inch-long strands of black hair gleaming in the lighting and contrasting the lightness of his skin fairly well. Behind her, Fralius smirked smugly at his would-be assassin, only serving to infuriate the Myke that much more in the process of it.

                “Get out of my way, whelp! This is a battle for true masters, only!”

                “Then prove your worth, worm! Face me!”

                “Very well, prepare to die, you insolent pup!” Then, the Myke gripped his lightsaber with both hands before lurching forward to make a sweeping chop toward her. She blocked, using the force of the impact to spin around and rotated her entire body, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The power of her kick launched the Myke from his feet to land face down on the metal panel of the hangar floor, but even as he pushed himself up on his knees, left palm and right knuckles with the lightsaber still in his hand, she swept forward. He looked sideward at her, eyes widening in surprise, as she seemed to whip forward like a blur, her left leg rising to deliver a powerful kick into his stomach, hard enough it knocked him up into the air. Her right hand swept through the air with a whoosh, as she delivered a powerful uppercut that caused him to rotate lengthwise in the air as it thrust him away from her. As he landed, she was already moving forward again, feigning a seething rage as she brought her lightsaber around, where he only barely managed to block it, stumbling backward in the process.

                “Pathetic fool,” she derided as she trapped his blade against her own before her leg snapped up and slammed her heel into his sternum, hurling him backward again. He slammed into the metal panel on his back, laid out flat by her attack as his blade hovered above the floor with his landing. She scowled intently at him as he used the Force and launched himself off the floor into a standing position with a defensive stance, then launched a blast of lightning from his free left hand at her. Her focus heightened and her feigned rage deepened, as she rotated her body and brought her right hand around, catching the lightning with the cybernetic metal glove through the discipline of Tutaminis. His eyes widened in surprise as he channeled an increasingly intense burst of white lightning against her, though N’Lola simply continued to absorb it, rejuvenating herself of the damage done by her recent use of Deadly Sight to rescue the cadets from the Black Sun’s foot soldiers. Her body radiated a luminescent white aura as he continued until his breath failed, and he gasped and stared at her in disbelief.

                “How do you come to be so strong?” exclaimed the Myke in consternation, twenty years her senior yet with far less focus or power. He had thought himself a master, had thought himself adept in the ways of the dark side, but he found himself now stymied by a mere Sith Apprentice.

                “My Master is clearly superior to yours,” she observed with a condescending sneer, modifying her Force Veil to have a combination of rage and arrogance, though she felt neither, “I would ask you to deliver a message to your master… but you will not see him again!” She burst forward once more, and as he lifted his arm, bringing his lightsaber around to defend himself, her own free hand moved to intercept with a wave of Force. His arm twisted sharply about, a loud bony snap filling the air as her lightsaber came down uninterrupted, cleaving him from the right shoulder to the left knee, killing him instantaneously without damaging his lightsaber. As he fell to the ground, she used the Force to seize his lightsaber for herself, claiming it as a trophy in the typical manner of a successful Sith.

                “Pitiful fool,” Darth Fralius smirked at the dead Myke, then looked to his apprentice, “Your timing is quite… unmatched, my faithful apprentice.”

                “I sensed a disturbance in the Force, and knew my Master was in potential peril,” she said, before reciting the Code of the Sith with which she was keenly familiar to maximize her success in this infiltration and deceiving the Feeorin Sith Lord.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ongoing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                Three months after the incident with the Myke, the fleet was now underway from Rishi to Teth, when one of the communications consoles pinged as they progressed through the Opoku system. The Twi’lek communications officer half-turned to look at the admiral where the Feeorin was seated at the centre of the helm, with N’Lola standing behind and slightly to one side of him; she offered a hint of a nod.

                “Admiral, we’ve picked up a distress call, originating from deep space between the Opoku system and the Roti-Ow system,” said the Twi’lek, “It is broadcasting with imperial distress codes.”

                “Helm, modify coordinates to drop out of hyperspace near the distress signal’s point-of-origin,” ordered the admiral, receiving an obedient ‘aye, sir’ in answer. As they dropped out of hyperspace, they discovered the distressed ship was a Personal Luxury Yacht 3000, a type of ship designed for civilian use by the SoroSoub Corporation, though it saw far more use as an imperial star-liner for vital personnel. This particular one had explosion burns where it would normally have had each of the three laser cannons, and intense damage to both nacelle-embedded engines had rendered it immobile. The ship’s hangar bay doors opened and the helmsman piloted the Indomitable through the open void of space to carry the star-liner into the hangar securely.

                “Go welcome our guests, N’Lola,” instructed Admiral Golm, and she nodded, quickly turning and departing the bridge to head to the appropriate hangar. She could sense the presence of Force-sensitives in the hangar, and that told her that things were not as they might have seemed, entirely.

                As she descended, she examined the Force-sensitives intensely, and she could tell by their lack of response that they were either extremely highly trained, or completely untrained, in the Force. When she stepped into the hangar on the fourth floor, she could see them clearly: a group of four Umbarans in grey-black robes, with singed holes in the cloth at several locations and visible blaster-burns from a low-yield hit they had taken. Each of them was roughly the same height as her, though for their gauntness they were lighter and undoubtedly physically weaker, standing in front of the fifty-metre-long imperial star-liner. She stared down at them a moment, then stepped up onto the railing before hopping off, using the Force to carry herself in a smoothly gradual descent as opposed to the slower use of the ladder, and allowing her to keep her eyes fixated on the Umbarans at all times. Untrained in the Force or not, she still knew enough about Umbarans in general to know that she did not trust them and would be a fool to trust them blindly, if at all. Nevertheless, she approached them at a smooth gait as soon as her shoes touched the hangar floor.

                “Welcome to the Indomitable. You look to have been assaulted,” she said, allowing them to play into what she had a strong suspicion was a ruse.

                “Yes. We were transporting an imperial salary shipment, the annual payment for one of a main combat fleet,” said the lead Umbaran, “As we were underway, we were set upon by enemies who presented themselves as if pirates, though I strongly believe they were members of the rebellion, stealing funds to pay for their operations. My name is Tir Kuul, Imperial salary courier, and these are my subordinates, Del Muur, Vath Lott, and Kaa Hinn.”

                “I am N’Lola Vurkoth, Attaché to Admiral Golm,” she replied courteously, though retaining her suspicions, “You seem to be in fair enough health.” She examined each individual critically, from their bald cranium and extreme pallor, across white eyebrows and white eyes, down to black leather boots that looked more flexible than a courier’s should. In answer, Tir nodded.

                “Yes, we were quite fortunate. The rebel scum did not realize how important each of us is to the Empire as a payroll courier, and were foolishly interested only in the salary shipment of THIS day,” lamented Kaa, her face making a mournful expression. N’Lola’s suspicions elevated, sensing no sorrow or sadness from the Umbaran woman, sensing indeed nothing but duplicity and a powerful intent to deceive.

                “Where is the admiral? I should like to thank him for delaying in his mission to pick us up,” said Tir.

                _I’m sure you would_ , N’Lola thought to herself.

                “Admiral Golm is occupied with fleet command operations; I have been instructed to see that you all feel as welcome as possible. Please, this way,” she said, motioning toward a ladder to the highest of the decks the hangar bay was directly connected to, out of four. She observed as they ascended the ladder, and then turned toward one of her Twi’lek loyalists, stepping in close enough to whisper near soundlessly, while pointing toward the ship suggestively.

                “See to it the Umbarans are followed, and have the flight mechanics begin repairs on this star-line in case we should have use for it,” she said, and the blue-skinned woman nodded faintly. Then, N’Lola turned and leapt into the air, using the Force to augment the motion, allowing her to sail up to where the Umbaran quartet waited, the soles of her shoes coming down quietly on the landing before she proceeded through the door.

                She led them to four of the only vacant quarters on the ship, quarters neither especially close to each other nor within three decks of the admiral’s ready room or personal chambers. N’Lola could sense the frustration and the discontentment that they radiated when she put them in separate rooms, rooms distant enough from each other that if they attempted to conspire with each other now, it would be noticed. She wondered if they realized that she had split them intentionally, and then decided to play a little game of counter-deception, as she turned her head to look over her shoulder with one eyebrow lifted.

                “I am afraid I must apologize for the inability to place you nearer one another. You see, many of our chambers are already occupied, albeit a few have recently requested to be allowed to share quarters as roommates with another to heighten the efficiency of their teamwork,” she said, colouring her Force Veil with truthfulness and maintaining an expression of unassuming authenticity. She sensed acceptance and trust in response to her words, but she contained it behind a mask of casual friendliness as she led them in the direction of the ship’s cafeteria.

                _Damn, they’re either far more trained than they let on, or they’re the most gullible Umbarans in the history of their species,_ she thought to herself, within the shield of her Force Veil. She cautiously favoured the former of those two conclusions, as she had not survived more than five years masquerading as a Sith Apprentice by being gullible or incautious, herself. Once they reached the ship’s cafeteria, she motioned toward the providence of abundant food, of the fresh-cooked variety.

                “The admiral will make time to see you when time permits,” she informed them.

                “He will not be available in the near future?”

                “There are other demands on the admiral’s time, as you must well know. Surely, Captain Kuul, you are not proposing that the admiral should shirk his imperial duties to… what?” she asked with a brief pause, “Have tea with a payroll captain who couldn’t even fight off a few pirates? I dread to think what possible recourse the high command will have when they discover that you lost a year’s salary for an entire fleet.” Tir’s white-haired left eyebrow twitched and she could sense a spike in agitation from all three of them, though aside one twitching eyebrow, they concealed it well enough.

                “Of course,” Tir replied as he covered his agitation with obedience to the rules and regulations of the Empire, “The admiral must obviously handle the proper completion of his duties before he has time for the luxury of personal conversations with colleagues.”

                “Likewise, you no doubt understand that you will not be permitted to converse with his admiralship in total privacy,” she warned, “We have, after all, only your word and a shred of proof that you are indeed payroll couriers – what if you are, secretly, assassins masquerading as payroll couriers on behalf of rebel scum?” Again, there was that slight twitch of an eyebrow on the part of Tir Kuul, and a spike of agitation from all four of their new Umbaran guests.

                “Of course, I understand that you must take proper security precautions,” answered Tir tactfully, careful of a young woman she suspected he had previously underestimated, as she simulated an extreme of overprotectiveness for her Master. She could sense their frustration, anxiousness, and irritation growing, with each new obstacle she placed between them and the admiral. Nevertheless, she was already formulating a plan, because she knew that the four were already making their own plans for how to circumvent the hurdles she presented to them.

                “I must excuse myself, now, but please feel free to take advantage of our cafeteria,” she offered, then turned promptly on her heel and departed the cafeteria, to proceed immediately to her next order of business. She needed the ship to look more secure than it was, or rather, to look weaker and less secure than it was, and that would necessitate an unfortunate body count. For this purpose, she proceeded to the ship’s armoury and the chief security officer, though she would not inform him of what it was she required of him.

                “Commander Trousdale,” she said as she stepped in, looking at the man of some sixty-two years aged, as he stood to greet her on arrival, fixing eyes of grey-green on her under hair of greying black, and waited for her to continue. A man of six feet in height and an impeccably fit two hundred seven pounds, he could have been described as a handsome individual for his age. Indeed, he looked to be in extraordinary good health, all things being equal.

                “Our new guests… stir suspicion in me. I wish them… observed,” she said, “Clandestinely.”

                “Understood, Lady Vurkoth, I shall post security personnel in the corridors in the nearest junctions from their quarters, and at junctions along the paths between those quarters. They will be given the idea that we maintain security personnel at every junction, if they attempt to snoop about or slink through the ship. Fear not, my Lady, I shall place my best men in their path, and if they should try anything, we shall have but four Umbaran corpses to be rid of.” She nodded once in answer, she couldn’t be certain where his allegiances were invested, whether to Golm or to the Empire; all she could be sure of, was that he was not one of hers.

                That matter settled, she proceeded to return to the bridge, where the admiral turned his head slightly to a side to look at her over his shoulder with an expectant lift of one eyebrow ridge.

                “Our guests are Umbaran, admiral. They claim to be payroll couriers transporting the annual salary of one of the Empire’s primary combat fleets, when they were assaulted by pirates. I have positioned each of the four Umbarans in separate quarters with quite some distance between them, on two separate decks, the highest of which is three decks below your ready room and your personal quarters. Also,” she said in answer to his glance, “I instructed Commander Trousdale to post men in their path, should they attempt to approach your quarters in stealth during the evening hours. I cannot speak to the quality of Trousdale’s men, though he offered me his assurances that he would position his best in the corridors to ensure the Umbarans cannot coordinate in private, nor easily approach your position. If they are in earnest, they will wait patiently for you to have time for them.” Golm nodded, and offered a faint hint of a smirk as a response to what were quite evidently hurdles meant to safeguard him from potential threats.

                “Excellent, N’Lola,” he said coolly, “I knew I made a wise choice in coming to your rescue, and taking you as my apprentice.” She nodded tranquilly in answer.

                “Thank you, Master. I would like to be excused, so that I may gather my strength in the event that they should attempt anything untoward,” she said in turn. When Golm nodded, she departed from the bridge and went immediately to her quarters, where she took a few hours of rest; when she woke, she collected her serenity and meditated upon the light side of the Force. She waited, using the Force to keep track of the positions of the four Umbarans, knowing that they would be disinclined to delay and thereby cause their master to wait longer than necessary for indications of their expected success. Once the Umbarans stirred, just after midnight, N’Lola rose from her meditation and proceeded out into the corridors herself, moving stealthily through the corridors, where her own loyalists lurked everywhere, hidden in plain sight. She tracked them by the trail of bodies, finding the corpses of three of the ship’s security personnel at some junctions and four at others, up through the ship to the deck with the admiral’s quarters. Finally, she discovered them lingering near a T-junction at one end of the corridor on which the admiral’s personal chamber was located, with the bodies of four dead security personnel. She could sense that the guards in front of the door were still alive, as well as the ones situated at the other junction flanking the admiral’s hallway.

                “There are four guards outside the admiral’s bedchamber, and four at the far end of the hall,” said Tir, “We’ll need to take them out quickly. Are you ready to make a quick aim with these rifles?”

                “Yes,” confirmed Kaa, with the agreeable nods of both others, and as N’Lola watched cautiously around one corner, they rolled out into the junction, lifting their rifles and firing promptly. Instantly, the security personnel outside the admiral’s quarters fell dead, and a second volley sliced down the hallway and killed the last four personnel before they realized they were under attack. Immediately, the sound of their bodies hitting the floor garnered attention from soldiers on the junctions in direct line-of-sight thereof, though the Umbarans were already racing toward the admiral’s door. Even as they moved, so did N’Lola, drawing and activating her lightsaber as she used the Force to silence it, as she slid up behind Del Muur, her lightsaber coming around with a hum that was too near to be masked, but it was too late already. Her lightsaber clove through the rearmost of their number, causing him to arch and gasp in pain as he fell dead with her red blade having cut through his spine four inches above the hip. Immediately, the other three whirled around, forced to change their focus from the admiral’s guards to his attaché as she came unexpectedly on them from behind. Even as they turned, she leapt and closed the distance, slicing through flesh and cloth to kill Vath with similar smoothness, standing with her blade poised to surge forward with another strike as a second Umbaran was riven into two sections.

                “Damn!” swore Tir as he and Kaa both fired at her simultaneously, though her lightsaber blade swept about to block it easily, deflecting the blasts of both back towards them. As each blaster bolt struck their shoulders, it flung them spinning to the ground and made them drop their rifles. Even as they did, she leapt forward, somersaulting before coming down on top of one, slamming her heel into his neck and snapping it as her landing brought her into a braced crouch, impaling her lightsaber into the female assassin with lethal aim. The door whirred, as a further six of the ship’s security personnel arrived to secure the bodies, and she nodded to them as the admiral stepped out of his quarters, still in his uniform.

                “It seems you were right about the Umbarans, my apprentice,” Golm said with a smirk as the security started to carry the bodies, one at a time, from the hall, “Return the bodies to the star-liner and drop it from the hangar during flight.” In answer, the security personnel nearby nodded as they carried away the final corpse, at the same moment as Commander Trousdale hurried up to them.

                “I am sorry, Admiral, Lady Vurkoth. I put my best men on it, but it seems that you were still needed yourself.”

                “It is no trouble, Commander,” the admiral replied calmly, “My apprentice sensed the assassins’ true motivations, and your best were enough. They slowed the Umbarans long enough for my apprentice to catch up to them.” At that, the commander nodded in acceptance of the approval offered.

                “I will redouble my efforts in training my security personnel to be better,” the commander promised.

                “An excellent decision,” the admiral nodded, “How many men have you lost tonight?”

                “Two hundred and nineteen,” the commander replied, and the admiral nodded.

                “N’Lola. Take Lieutenant-Commanders Nuav and Xuax, and Ensigns Maire and Vindac, and take the Curich-class shuttles. I want you to select two hundred twenty-five fighters to serve as replacement security personnel under the commander.”

                “Yes, Master,” she answered, turning and quickly departing from the ship with the Epicanthix twins and two of the Barabel she had brought aboard, herself, whom Golm had granted the ranks of Ensign. Once they departed from the ship, she guided the squadron of Curich-class shuttles directly to her homeworld of Bpfassh, where they proceeded to swiftly interview four hundred individuals before filling all two hundred and twenty-five positions the admiral had instructed her to fill, returning to the fleet within a week of departure. The admiral examined the newly arrived fighters, though he was quickly and easily satisfied with them, his trust in his apprentice heightened by her dispatch of a team of imperial assassins.

 

                Less than one month following her return to the Fleet, in the early parts of the nine hundred and ninety-sixth year after the Ruusan Reformation, a different Empire launched their own attack on the fleet.

                “Admiral, Hutt caravels exiting hyperspace!” reported the navigations officer, as the fleet sat in orbit over the imperial world of Ord Wylan in the Oktos sector. A largely uninhabited world with no sentient life and no resources known to exist on the planet which would make it especially desirable, in fact the entire sector lacked anything that’d make it unusually desirable to anyone. The planets were able to sustain life, but there were enough such planets already and no sentient lifeform had yet evolved on any of the planets in the Oktos sector. It was technically space owned by the Galactic Empire, but given the relative worthlessness of it, the Hutt Empire nearby found it unworthy the effort of fighting over it.

                “How many are they?”

                “Forty, admiral… and there’s a Hutt warship with them! It’s a Ubrikkian Frigate!” As the swarm of Seltiss-1 class caravels came whipping out of hyperspace ahead of the main warship, the Frigate itself came sweeping into a smooth halt. As the caravels raced toward the fleet, expertly weaving and dodging aside from the fleet’s cannon-fire, the Ubrikkian Frigate targeted the Indomitable directly. The relatively small two-hundred-fifty-metre frigate began a barrage, sweeping broadside to allow half of the twenty quad laser cannons began firing at the ship, though the gunfire was barely able to scratch the surface of their shields. Even as the fleet’s guns turned on the Ubrikkian Frigate and set to the task of firing, the caravels were reaching their destinations. For every Lancer-class Frigate, five caravels swept in and slammed down on the hull, breaching the ship’s security and sending a few hundred soldiers onto each ship, in an attempt to take the Frigates by force.

                A few minutes later, the Hutt Frigate exploded in space, and debris was pulled into the upper atmosphere of Ord Wylan, to be incinerated by the trauma of atmospheric entry.

                “Report,” prompted Golm.

                “Enemy Frigate destroyed. Enemy caravels have landed on the Lancers; captains are reporting incursions of Klatooinian troops on each ship. According to our databanks, the Hutt caravel is able to transport sixty-five soldiers of the stature common to the Klatooinian species, and there are five caravels attached to the hull of each of the Lancers. There must be hundreds on each ship.”

                “Three hundred and twenty-five,” N’Lola added, for the sake of specificity.

                “We will not have our fleet stolen by the Hutts,” said Golm with a scowl of irritation on his face, “Order the rest of the fleet to release a full bombardment on any Lancer that falls under Hutt control.”

                “Yes, admiral,” replied one of the Twi’lek communications officers, immediately transmitting the orders, but N’Lola could sense she was also ensuring the orders were made known to their counterparts on the Lancers. However the captains of the Lancers felt about it, she knew her people on the Lancers would ensure that all commands on each ship were locked out from everywhere but the bridge, allowing them to focus on securing a single position. A tense span of six hours followed, during which there was undoubtedly intense fighting going on aboard each of the Lancers, but none managed to fall under the control of the Hutt attackers. Finally, confirmation codes were sent from each ship to affirm each Frigate had remained securely under imperial control and the attackers had been eliminated.

                “Casualty reports,” said the admiral with a soft sigh, and a hint of what N’Lola recognized as relief. He would not have wanted to destroy his own Frigates, as it would have left him more vulnerable to Palpatine attempting to get rid of him with any number of methods.

                “Each ship has lost all twenty medical personnel. Additionally, the Assiduous reports three hundred eighty-five security personnel dead, the Cavalier reports four hundred two security personnel dead, and the Diligence reports four hundred forty-five security personnel dead. The Forerunner reports four hundred thirteen security personnel dead, the Munificent reports three hundred ninety-six security personnel dead, and the Sentinel reports four hundred twenty-one security personnel dead. There are also four hundred nineteen security personnel dead aboard the Torch, and three hundred eighty-eight security personnel dead aboard the Vigilant,” answered a Twi’lek communications officer, then continued, “Each ship reports their chief medical and chief security officers are among the fatalities. However, security personnel were able to lock down most sections of the ship, minimizing the fatalities outside of medical personnel and themselves. It seems the most intense fighting on each ship occurred in the ship’s sickbay, in the corridors with access to the sickbay, and directly outside the ship’s bridge.”

                “The Hutts must have ordered the priority targeting of medical personnel and bridge crews,” N’Lola said, to which Golm nodded. It was a logical deduction, given the information that was coming in: they wanted to lay claim to the ships. They also wanted to ensure that the maximum number of enemy wounded would die before being able to receive medical attention, but they had underestimated the number of security personnel on each ship. The admiral was understandably upset, but she could tell from his emotional emanations that anger was not the only emotion: there alongside it, was perplexity.

                “Master, you seem… puzzled, by something.”

                “How did the Hutts know the fleet was here?”

                “Hmm,” replied N’Lola, “A most interesting inquest, certainly, Master. Someone must have manipulated the Hutts into attacking by providing them information about our proximity to the Oktos nebula.”

                “N’Lola, take the Dauntless and find replacements for the… how many dead was that?”

                “Three thousand four hundred twenty-nine, admiral,” replied the Twi’lek at the communications station.

                “Find replacements for the exact number killed.”

                “Yes, Master.”

                “Remember, one hundred and sixty of those are medical personnel, ma’am,” added the Twi’lek, to which she nodded, and immediately moved toward the door.

                “The Fleet will not move until your return, apprentice. We will need to progress to an imperial shipyard for repairs and the removal of the Hutt caravels attached to the hull like parasites, and I wish to arrive with a full crew.”

                “Understood, Master,” she replied, before leaving the bridge and then proceeding to take a Curich-class and take personal command of the Ton Falk-class carrier she was instructed to take. It took her ten weeks, nearly a month and a half, to find most of the replacements she needed, before then proceeding to hunt down what she needed for the last of it.

 

                Nearly two weeks of searching later, N’Lola acquired the coordinates she needed and directed the helmsman and the navigational officers. Finally, they exited hyperspace in a position between star systems, located in deep space, one million kilometres from a space station that nobody expected to be there. Heavily modified according to scanners, it was nevertheless an XQ1 Platform, and had most of the same physical dimensions: a depth of two hundred and forty metres at the centre, one thousand metres long and nine hundred thirty-six metres wide. The docking bays were twice their normal thickness, however, which suggested the platform had two decks in each docking bay, allowing for double the number of starfighters as normal. It also included one hundred AG-2G quad laser cannons spread well enough that it could fire at enemy starfighters in nearly any position relative to the installation, and eighty equally well-distributed MG7 proton torpedo launchers.

                “Open a channel,” she instructed the woman at the communications console, a fellow Bpfassh, who nodded promptly in answer, “Hailing XQ1 Platform, designation unknown, please respond.”

                “This is the Hidden Hearth,” came a reply across the communications channel, “What is your business here?”

                “I have a contract proposition. Requesting permission to come aboard,” she replied, following which there was a long moment of silence.

                “Permission granted.” She nodded, walking out of the bridge and down to the hangar where the Curich-class shuttle was waiting, and then flew to the space station that served as the headquarters of the Assassin’s Guild. As she approached, docking bay doors opened, revealing there were indeed two decks, and as she carefully navigated inside to land her Curich-class shuttle, she noted that each docking bay looked as if it had twelve ARC-170 starfighters and twelve Cutlass-9 starfighters. Finally, the docking bay doors closed behind her, the docking bay pressurized, and then a group of people approached, allowing her to unlock and open the hatch. She disembarked from the shuttle, stepping down to make contact with the group of six black-clad individuals, each wearing a hooded shirt and a face-mask that prevented her from seeing almost anything other than their eyes and each individual’s height.

                “You have a contract proposal,” said the tallest, who was a male of six feet four inches, and N’Lola nodded in confirmation of that, though it was more statement than question.

                “I will need to see your leaders. The contract is… extremely particular, long-lasting, and will require a rather considerable number of individuals.” There was a long pause, before a soft beep sounded from the lead individual’s hood, and something was undoubtedly said into his ear, because he abruptly nodded.

                “Very well,” he replied at last, “This way.” She followed without further comment, traveling down plain and undecorated corridors until she reached a pair of double-doors. N’Lola could sense a number of people beyond, what felt as if it was at least twelve, possibly as many as twenty individuals. She stepped through the door to discover there was a large, U-shaped table into the middle of which she was expected to stand, with black-robed figures on each side, hooded and masked, to protect their identities. N’Lola extended her sensitivity, and began to examine each one in her search for the perfect person for her to approach with the more specific details. She knew the Assassin’s Guild was an organization that, like many other organizations, was becoming factionalized by the stirring of the Rebellion and a foreseeable confrontation with the Empire. There were sure to be some who were neutral, some who were interested in ensuring the survival of the Empire, and some who were interested in ensuring the fall of the Empire. She needed to be certain she approached a Rebel sympathizer in the guild’s Elite Circle: the wrong choice could be catastrophic.

                “I have a contract which will require seventy-two assassins for an extremely long-term assignment,” N’Lola began, and she could sense the surprised response, “A recurring salary will be readily provided to each individual as a compensation for the continued performance of the desired task.”

                “What manner of target will these assassins be expected to eliminate?”

                “You describe this as an extreme long-term assignment. Please clarify.”

                “Will each assassin be provided with access to weapons or expected to furnish their own?”

                “What would be the volume and frequency of payments provided to each assassin in this recurring salary you mention?” As leaders at the table showered her with questions, she remained silent, listening and scanning as each of them spoke in turn even as most remained silent.

                “I am sure you understand the need for a certain amount of… discretion,” N’Lola replied, “All of these things are matters which I would prefer to discuss with a single member of your Circle, with the promise of confidentiality.” She could sense a startled response from many of those who sat at the table, perhaps taken aback by the fact that their prospective employer had discretionary concerns of her own.

                “The Lady plays things quite close to the vest, herself,” observed one of the members of the Elite Circle in a tone of voice that suggested understanding. N’Lola nodded, then turned her head abruptly and lifted her hand, pointing at one of the members of the Elite Circle directly.

                “You are the one I have come to speak with,” she announced, which solicited a startled intake of breath from a fair number of those at the table.

                “Then I am the one you shall speak with,” replied the male, remaining hooded and masked as he stood from his seat, and circled out around the table, “Please, follow me to my personal conference room.” His voice was ancient, or at least it sounded so to her, though she couldn’t quite place the reason why it sounded ancient or why he felt as if he were ancient, but she suspected she would soon learn the answer. She followed him quietly, allowing him to lead a path that looped twice and ascended four times, until he thought her completely lost perhaps. Finally, he would pass through a door into a modest-sized room with a heavily reinforced window, which boasted a rather magnificent view of the star-strewn blackness. Then, still facing away from her, he pulled back his hood and removed the mask that had covered his face from cheekbone to below the jawline, leaving only his crimson irises visible to her when she selected him out of all of them. He was only five feet six inches in height with hair gone white, she presumed with age, though perhaps white was simply a natural colour for his species, and a pale grey complexion that was rather similar to hers.

                “I feel that I must begin this conversation with a question, my child,” he said as he turned to face her, revealing a countenance that was at once ancient and yet having a handsome smoothness that she found almost enchanting. He was a man with thick, bushy eyebrows and hair brushed neatly back but allowed to remain free flowing, and a nose that was wide but not unattractive. He had no moustache, but above emerging from above each corner of his upper lip was a whisker-like tendril of white hairs, each about a half-inch thick and about eight inches in length. The tuft of his beard looked like the flame of a torch, inverted, but it had a similar length and despite the bushiness, it was clear that it was well maintained.

                “I am Akku Seii, and I would know why you selected me, out of all members of the Elite Circle,” he said, as much a question as a statement.

                “I am N’Lola Vurkoth. I sensed in you an uncommon lightness, and a receptiveness to the goals of enemies of the Empire, and it is for that reason I chose you as the one with whom I would wish to speak.”

                “You are interested in enemies of the Empire, yet you arrive in an imperial warship,” observed Akku, “Most unusual, you are, young one.”

                “I am quite certain most would concur with such a description,” she replied, “Also, you are Anzat, and thusly, a human you are not. The Empire seeks inevitably to exterminate all sentient life in the galaxy save for that of humans. The Anzati, too, are imperiled by this goal.”

                “Ah, how interesting, appealing to me on the basis of my species,” Akku replied thoughtfully, “Yet, I confess, most Anzati deserve to be imperiled. We are anomalies of nature, rivaled in our species’ treatment of others because of our dietary needs only by humans’ treatment of others because of their superiority complex. If I could afford to set a bounty on the head of every Anzat who merited imperilment, I would be… a man of particularly exceptional wealth.”

                “I see,” she replied, perhaps somewhat fascinated by his objectivity on the topic of members of his own kind.

                “You may rest at ease, though, young one. I only feed on real members of the Empire, which I can tell you are clearly not,” Akku offered as a manner of transition from one topic to another, “I suspect that you have yet several centuries of life in your future. You are a Bpfassh, correct?”

                “Yes,” she replied simply, her tone warm.

                “So, these seventy-two assassins you wish for, what manner of target are you desiring them to eliminate?”

                “Any individual on the ship I place them on whose loyalty is not to myself above the Empire and above the Sith admiral whose fleet I have infiltrated,” she answered truthfully.

                “I see,” he answered, casually enough that she got the feeling he might not have cared, though she knew that it was something he had to know if he was going to find her viable prospects, “Please clarify your definition of extreme long-term.”

                “I would require their service for a period of several years, until the fall of the Galactic Empire, or until every person within the fleet is loyal to myself above all else,” she replied.

                “Ahh, the young one’s motives I see now more clearly,” replied Akku in a warm, thoughtful voice, “and as to the matter of weapons?”

                “A combination of furnished and self-furnished,” she answered, “Each ship has an armoury to which the role they would be assigned on the crew would grant them access to, but it would be desired that they bring their best, most favoured, or stealthiest weapons of their own, as well.”

                “A wise compromise,” he observed, “Please define the recurring salary you referred to, in greater specificity.”

                “Once annually, a payment of forty-five thousand credits. Additionally, a two-year salary will be provided, half as a compensation for that their first payment would not come immediately and half as an additional incentive.”

                “A most tempting offer it is, indeed, but perhaps fair in lieu of the risk-reward consideration,” he observed, his tone thoughtful and warm, “Do you have any additional specifications you would prefer to see accommodated?”

                “Yes. I wish for twenty-four of them to be Miraluka, twenty-four of them to be Jilruans and twenty-four to be Zabraks,” she said in answer.

                “Very specific, indeed,” said Akku, “However, I think your request can be accommodated. The station houses several hundred members at any given time, in search of contract. It may take me time to collect the numbers which you require, but it should not be more than a few days.”

                “Thank you, Master Akku,” she replied warmly, to which he nodded before he excused himself to begin the search for assassins of suitable moral compass.

                Less than two months after her departure, N’Lola returned to the fleet with the Dauntless, transporting a force of three thousand one hundred ninety-seven Chistori security personnel, one hundred and sixty Epicanthix physicians, and her chosen assassins.

                Over the course of the next few months, her assassins purged her enemies from the Lancers, allowing her to bring in an additional one hundred and twenty Twi’lek communications personnel. Thereafter, the assassins gradually but cautiously purged the Lancers of security personnel not loyal to her above all, allowing her to replace those with a further three hundred thirty-one Chistori fighters. It was a slow but steady rate of attrition, and she knew that soon, it would be time for her to make a move she had been preparing for, for six years.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                In the second month of the nine hundred ninety-seventh year after the Ruusan Reformation, just three months after N’Lola’s eighteenth birthday, she knew the timing was right for her to move. The Sith Lord was at the greatest level of paranoia she had ever seen, he insisted that N’Lola accompany him virtually everywhere, as he deduced the Hutt attack was the direct result of manipulations by Emperor Palpatine, in another attempt to be rid of him. N’Lola could not say why the admiral had tolerated such a pattern of abuse, though he had put on a good show of dominance for his apprentice’s benefit, though she was planning now to be done with that, in the particularly near future. Admiral Golm had become increasingly suspicious of those around him, though she had remained unchallenged in that regard, having saved his life from multiple attempts to end it, and having never failed a mission.

                “Admiral,” N’Lola said at last, as Golm was examining the shuttles that had just arrived, as the fleet hovered in a high orbit over the ice planet of Helska IV, “I believe it is time for my… graduation, from the place of apprentice.” The Admiral froze briefly, before he turned his head to look toward her, where she stood roughly twenty metres from him, looking at him intently. When he nodded, she drew and activated her lightsaber, then waited for him to do so, as well, though he observed her with a faint tilt of his head, facial tendrils and scalp tentacles swaying in the process.

                “I am intrigued by your decision to announce this fact to me, where the average Sith Apprentice would have come upon me to murder me unaware,” said the Feeorin, as he took up an appropriate battle stance, his fingers curling around the grip of his lightsaber.

                “The average Sith apprentice is weak and cowardly,” she replied, adopting an aggressive stance where one leg was bent at nearly a right-angle with the other out ahead of her. Her gauntleted right hand was out ahead of her as her left hand hung back at a similar angle to her left leg, the blade of her lightsaber held parallel to the floor alongside at eye level. She had learned much in the way of lightsaber battling, about the tactics and behaviours of the Sith, and in particular, everything that Nuav and Xuax had observed about how Darth Fralius himself battled when he had had challengers, before taking an apprentice. She was ready for this, and more than that, she had a surprise for the admiral, even though he undoubtedly knew what metals she had used in designing and fabricating her gauntlet.

                “This is… very true!” answered Darth Fralius, as he abruptly surged toward her, bringing his lightsaber about in a sweeping slash toward her midsection. Even as he lunged, she twisted out of the way and blocked from underneath, with an upward arc of her lightsaber, one that allowed her to pivot on her left foot and slam the bridge of her right into his torso. Striking just above the lowest rib, her kick knocked him backward as her pivot continued, rotating her body until she was facing him once more. As her counterstrike forced him backward, ship personnel backed up rapidly out of the zone of the unexpected combat, though she kept her eyes continuously on Fralius. He lurched forward again to strike, and she blocked expertly, allowing him to be the wave crashing against the rock, as harmless as sunlight against a mountainside. His every strike was skilled and efficient, and her every reaction was full of foreknowledge and proof of an intense analysis of his style gleaned over years of study and preparation.

                “Impressive,” Fralius replied, spinning to bring in another attack, though for her preparation, she was able to maneuver into a defensive position against this, as well, “I hope you have prepared for a true challenge, however. This will not be so easy!” As he spoke, he moved his left hand from the grip of the lightsaber to thrust toward her, launching a burst of white lightning from his hand in her direction. She rotated out of the path once and then twice, as his bolts of lightning continued to jump toward her, then brought her right hand out to catch his lightning with her hand, bringing to bear her impressive battle-focus as she tapped into the ability of Tutaminis. The Sith Lord’s eyes widened, and he quickly ceased his electrical assault, surprised by the fact she had mastered that skill, entirely outside of his knowledge.

                He surged forward once more, this time making a direct thrust that she knew he used only when he felt that it was urgent he try to win a confrontation as quickly as possible. She once more blocked his blade, twisting to deliver a swift kick to him with her right foot, this time slamming the sole of her shoe into his lower stomach from the side to knock him off balance. As he stumbled in the opposite direction from her, she whirled into a renewed combat stance, and waited for him to attack again, and he did not long delay. He lunged forward once more with a thrust, and when she parried, he followed up with an overhand chop that came downward and inward from her right-hand side. When her gauntleted right hand clenched and released, then snapped upward in the direction of his lightsaber blade, Golm’s eyes widened as she caught his blade in the palm of her gauntlet, with the same loud hum it would have made if it had hit another lightsaber. Instantly, her fingers clenched tightly around the blade, precluding him from withdrawing it or attempting to use it to defend himself as her own lightsaber came abruptly forward. A heartbeat later, the red blade of her lightsaber pierced through his stomach below the lowest of his right ribs, protruding twelve inches out of his back.

                As the Sith admiral’s eyes widened in disbelief, as his apprentice slew him centuries sooner than he expected, she jerked the lightsaber to one side and then the other. She carved a zigzagging path up through one line and then out through his right shoulder, before delivering a sharp, snapping kick to the jaw that knocked him through the air to land flat on his back, staring dead at the ceiling. Then, as Fralius lay dead, N’Lola clenched her right fist and released again, deactivating the kyber-crystal-empowered shield and lifting her arm to her face.

                “Aerla, broadcast the signal,” she commanded the Twi’lek on the bridge.

                “Yes, ma’am,” replied the light-blue-skinned communications officer, immediately broadcasting to the fleet that Darth Fralius had been killed, and that his apprentice had taken his place as admiral of the fleet. Then, she tapped another button on her gauntlet, though it was as hard to spot as the other two.

                “This is Admiral N’Lola Vurkoth,” she stated into her gauntlet, which had now linked in with the shipboard intercom system, allowing her to address the entire ship simultaneously, “Admiral Golm is dead, and this fleet is now under my command.” As she spoke, the Epicanthix twins arrived in the hangar and approached, as her loyalists on the Indomitable locked down the ship’s engineering section, and loyalists throughout the fleet locked down both the bridge and the engineering section of every other ship.

                “That is going to cause some intense bloodletting,” observed Nuav.

                “That’s the idea,” N’Lola answered, “they know the rules and the traditions of the culture and the politics of the Sith. Mine will be… securely out of harm’s way, protected by my elevation to the status of Admiral.” Both twins nodded in answer, even as N’Lola proceeded to the bridge, and took the admiral’s seat thereon, allowing her Twi’lek communications officers to keep her informed. Aerla kept her continuously updated on the evolving situation aboard all ships in the fleet, as reported by other communications officers.

                “The communications officers have locked down the bridge on most ships, ensuring all essential bridge crew aboard contested ships survive, Admiral,” reported Aerla.

                “Sensors report intense lightfights are occurring on the Champion, the Cutter, the Wilhelm, as well as aboard every Lancer, Admiral. Additionally,” said the navigations officer, “sensors indicate light fighting aboard the Intrepid, the Eternity, and the Hammerhead.”

                “We are also receiving reports of intense but localized confrontations on this ship, Admiral,” continued Aerla.

                “Send a transmission to the Intrepid. Issue orders that the Human medic Tal Matan is to be kept out of harm’s way,” N’Lola instructed, and Aerla nodded.

                “Yes, Admiral; transmitting orders to secure the Intrepid’s sickbay, now,” replied the Twi’lek as she touched a number of the controls on her console, translating the order from one ship to the next.

                “Inform me when shipboard battles end,” she instructed, to which both the communications officers and the navigations officer nodded in response. As N’Lola waited patiently on the bridge, the battles raged, until information started to come in about ships whose battles had been resolved. Aboard the Albatross, the Avenger, the Dauntless, and the Harbinger, however, there had been reports of only exceptionally light conflict. Only a few personnel aboard the fighter carriers would need to be replaced: the only communications personnel not under her command had been killed on those ships. As reports continued to filter in, she learned that every communications officer on every ship had been killed, except the Twi’leks, who were loyal to her above all others, and that meant a trip to Ryloth to rebalance their communications personnel.

                “All shipboard confrontations resolved, Admiral,” Aerla reported at last, a full six hours after N’Lola seized command of the fleet, “Final fatality count is thirty-four thousand six hundred twenty-one personnel; most deaths on the Champion, the Cutter, and the Wilhelm. These three ships account for twenty-five thousand nine hundred seventy-nine fatalities, with an additional five thousand five hundred ninety-three reported fatalities on the Hammerhead.”

                “Any communications from the survivors, particularly any which refer to their allegiance?” N’Lola asked.

                “None yet, Admiral,” answered Aerla, to which N’Lola nodded.

                “Issue orders that all bodies are to be delivered to the Acclamators, and the Acclamators are to land and to bury the dead on Helska IV,” N’Lola instructed, and Aerla nodded, immediately transmitting the Admiral’s command. The Fleet was now badly diminished for personnel, but they remained in the Helska system for seven days to bury the dead, before departing immediately for Ryloth. Even as they got underway, N’Lola transmitted orders that those who were not loyal to her aboard the Lancers, were to be eliminated before they reached their first destination. It was time to purge her enemies from a fleet that was now hers to command, and with the loyalty of all six hundred and eighty-four communications officers, that would be easier than ever. Additionally, eighteen thousand seventy-six of Golm’s Human loyalists had transitioned their loyalty to her, reporting having participated in the elimination of all of Golm’s loyalists who wanted to avenge their Master, and many imperial loyalists, as well.

                Over the course of the next few months, the fleet remained off the imperial radar, slipping stealthily through imperial space from one planet to the next. Even as they moved through space, she allowed her assassins and loyalists purge every imperial loyalist from the crew, swiftly and silently, replacing them with personnel who would consider their loyalty to her as the most important. By the end of the upheaval and the subsequent purge of the imperial loyalists, N’Lola had reached the age of nineteen years, but shortly after the distribution of the Declaration of Rebellion issued by Mon Mothma, the young admiral had ensured complete authority over her fleet.

                The task of fleet purification completed, she ordered the fleet to travel to the sector designated as the Lannik Wilds, and take up a position of high orbit over the planet of Udrin Cara. The planet was an arid, desert world, which was home to no sentient lifeforms and indeed, flora and fauna in general were nearly nonexistent on the planet. It was, however, also the site of one of the Empire’s secret military design centres tasked with the research and development of biological weapons, according to the Indomitable’s databanks, with the current project being something listed as a toxic gas designated Maladeria II. The development of such weapons was anathematic to N’Lola, and it was the reason she had chosen this star system for her plan.

                “Attention, imperial design facility Udrin Cara, this is Admiral Vurkoth. We received intelligence suggesting that Rebels may have learned of the existence of this facility and have been ordered to leave a portion of this fleet to encircle your position, for added security, while we seek out the rebel filth.”

                “Understood, Admiral,” replied a male voice at once, “Your ships are authorized to land as necessary.”

                “Aerla, transmit instructions to the Acclamators to land in six positions encircling that military design centre. Personnel are instructed to remain aboard ship and crews are instructed to be prepared for emergency liftoff from the planet upon our return,” N’Lola instructed. Aerla nodded, immediately conveying the orders to the rest of the fleet; as N’Lola watched the six troop carriers descend into the atmosphere and eventually land, the rest of the fleet reformed around the flagship and the fighter carriers.

                “Helm, set a course to grid coordinates S-13, destination Nar Kaaga, and engage hyperspace engines,” N’Lola commanded, taking her seat in the admiral’s chair. As she settled in her seat, the fleet launched directly into hyperspace in the direction of the chosen planet; now, N’Lola was on the hunt for enemies of her own choosing. For the time, she knew, the Alliance to Restore the Republic would be best served by her remaining undercover, continuing to disguise herself as a servant of the Empire, someone corrupted by the dark side of the Force.

 

                “Aerla, patch me through to the Fleet,” N’Lola commanded, as the ships neared their destination, and when her communications officer nodded, she continued, “All personnel to battle stations. Prepare to raise shields and enter combat as soon as we drop out of hyperspace.” Throughout the thirteen warships, personnel scrambled to their battle stations, as they neared their first destination, and less than an hour, the ships came out of hyperspace in a region under the authority of the Hutt Empire.

                “Admiral, we are receiving a hail from the planet,” Aerla informed, and N’Lola nodded.

                “Attention Imperial vessels, you have entered Hutt Space. You must leave at once or be destroyed,” came a Hutt voice over the transmission.

                “Attention Hutts of the planet Nar Kaaga. I am the Dark Jedi Ricona, I am the servant of Emperor Palpatine, and I am here to carry out your summary destruction,” N’Lola replied.

                “If you th-” began the Hutt, before N’Lola motioned and Aerla gladly terminated the transmission, silencing the Hutt.

                “Helm, target military installations and headquarter structures on the planet; target the heaviest installations with the assault concussion missile launchers. Fire standard concussion missile launchers at all other targets,” N’Lola commanded.

                “Yes, Ma’am,” replied the Bpfassh at the helm, immediately beginning the targeting sequence.

                “Aerla, transmit orders for the Albatross and the Dauntless to target heavy ground installations following our bombardment and fire a complete volley with their VL-6 system, firing in alternation with our attack. Transmit orders to the rest of the fleet to take up defensive positions and man the guns,” N’Lola continued, and Aerla nodded, quickly beginning to transmit the orders even as the Indomitable opened fire. Simultaneously, twenty assault-grade concussion missiles launched from the Indomitable, accompanied by eighty standard concussion missiles, and curved their path to sweep in the direction of the planet. Even as the missiles sliced through the ozone layer and entered the atmosphere, their trajectories twisted and curved, moving around each other as they angled toward precise targets. As the assault concussion missiles eradicated armoured planetary defense cannons, bunkers, and Hutt palaces, the other eighty that were fired came slamming into antiaircraft installations, munitions depots, and hangars full of small starships. A half-second after their impact, each Ton Falk fired their VL-6 launchers, sending a grouping of five standard concussion missiles toward the planet, destroying soldier housing in ten locations spread out over a hundred square miles of land.

                “Admiral, we have Hutt caravels and Ubrikkian frigates inbound, mobilized from the far side of the planet,” informed the helmsman.

                “How many?” she asked.

                “Twenty Frigates, two hundred Hutt caravels,” replied the helmsman.

                “Target ten of the Frigates with two assault-grade concussion missiles each, target the remaining ten with six standard grade concussion missiles each, and thin the carvels with the other twenty standard concussion missiles,” she ordered, and the helmsman nodded.

                “Firing,” he replied, “Enemy Frigates destroyed, twenty enemy caravels destroyed. The Munificent and the Forerunner are moving to intercept.”

                “Order all ships to target the caravels and ensure that none manages to land a boarding party,” N’Lola ordered, satisfied with the destruction inflicted on the ground targets. As the fleet turned full attention on the caravels, it took less than ten minutes to exterminate them all.

                “What do you want from the Hutts?” demanded the voice of the same Hutt from before.

                “Ah, you survived,” N’Lola replied coolly, “Excellent. I have been sent to deliver a message to you, on behalf of the Galactic Empire: the Empire has long suffered your arrogance and weakness.” She immediately cut the channel once more, and Aerla nodded, terminating the communication before the Hutt could answer.

                “Take the Fleet into hyperspace, set a course for the Hutt planet of Affavan in S-12,” she ordered, and before the Hutts could launch a second wave of assault on the invading fleet, it had vanished untraceably into hyperspace, to a location they could not determine.

                For a total of ten days, N’Lola moved her fleet throughout Hutt space, hitting target after target, using their military supplies to strike at ten different locations in their space. Finally, the Hutts had had enough, and she succeeded in stirring them to the mobilization of their most powerful warships, vessels they had purchased from some alternative source. She led a host of twenty Ubrikkian Frigates back to the Udrin Cara system, where her fleet circled around and engaged them once more, during the course of which the Hutts put troops on the ground to enter the military design centre in a raid. As they entered, N’Lola used the Force to inspire a protocol droid to activate the centre’s self-destruct protocol, detonating the research lab with all data and all hands.

                The Hutts defeated, she entered hyperspace to travel directly to the imperial munitions depot in the Chalacta system to resupply their munitions before crossing into Hutt Space for a second time, and attacking the Hutt planet of Nimban. Once there, she ordered the firing the Indomitable’s eighty assault-grade concussion missiles and their entire supply of three hundred twenty standard-grade concussion missiles are military targets on the ground. Meanwhile, the missile batteries of the Albatross and the Dauntless eliminated forty Ubrikkian Frigates as the Lancers destroyed four hundred Hutt caravels. Thereafter, to add insult to injury, N’Lola ordered her fleet to casually standby for two days, until her navigations officer turned to her late on the second day.

                “Admiral, long range sensors have picked up a Hutt Fleet approaching from the direction of Nal Hutta. They will arrive in two hours.”

                “How many ships?” she asked in response.

                “Sensors have identified four Lucrehulk-class battleships, twenty Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, forty DP20 frigates, and one hundred Ubrikkian Frigates,” replied the navigations officer, and she nodded.

                “Set a course for Sochi. Order the fleet to wait ninety-five minutes and then energize hyperspace engines to travel in that direction.” As they waited, allowing the Hutts to draw nearer, to close the distance and ensure that they would be able to track her fleet for a while, she could sense their apprehension, and their trust. Finally, the fleet leapt into hyperspace twenty-five minutes before the Hutt fleet reached them.

                “Admiral, long-range sensors indicate a major imperial fleet is currently in Sochi,” informed the navigations officer, and she answered with a mild smirk.

                “I know,” she replied smugly, “Drop us out of hyperspace when we will be twenty-two minutes’ of sub-light travel from the imperial fleet.” The helmsman nodded, and soon enough, they dropped out of hyperspace, permitting the imperial fleet to approach them. The imperial fleet, itself, consisted of one Executor-class star dreadnought, along with two Secutor-class star destroyers, two Super-class star destroyers, four Praetor Mark II-class super star destroyers, and twenty-one Venator-class star destroyers.

                “Admiral, incoming hail from Sector Admiral Vorn Taul,” said Aerla, a glance over her shoulder.

                “Order the fleet to set a course for Najarka. Put him through,” she replied, as she observed the fleet moving progressively closer on the view-screen, at least until the fleet stopped within firing range and the Sector Admiral appeared instead.

                “Admiral Golm, I …” the man began, then stopped and stared as he realized the absence of the expected man and the presence of a much younger woman, “Where is Admiral Golm?”

                “Darth Fralius succumbed to the unfortunate consequence of taking an apprentice,” she replied, “I have taken his place as the loyal servant of his imperial majesty, Emperor Palpatine. I am Admiral Ricona.”

                “I see,” replied Vorn, a human who seemed unimpressed, “I have received orders from our Emperor to inspect your fleet, thoroughly, in the event that I should happen to cross your path. Please standby for my inspectors to come aboard.”

                “I am afraid I cannot do that, Admiral,” she said, as her navigations officer turned his seat enough to look at her and offer a nod, “However, I have brought you a glorious victory on which you may report to the Emperor, perhaps it will even earn you a promotion.”

                “A glorious victory?” replied the Sector Admiral, perplexed, “What do you mean by…”

                “Admiral!” interrupted Vorn’s helmsman, “Major Hutt fleet inbound!” As the helmsman shouted in surprise, N’Lola motioned to terminate the communications at the same moment as the Hutt fleet came surging into the system behind them.

                “Time to go,” N’Lola ordered, “order all ships in the fleet to engage hyperspace engines.” It took less than a minute before all nineteen vessels disappeared, leaving the Sector Admiral’s fleet of thirty naval vessels to battle the Hutt fleet of one hundred and sixty-four warships.

                By the time they reached Najarka, the Empire had already begun broadcasting propaganda of an unprovoked attack by the evil Hutts, and Admiral Vorn Taul’s glorious victory over Hutt barbarians. In checking the ship datalinks, she learned that the entire Hutt fleet had been destroyed, as well as all ships in Admiral Vorn Taul’s fleet save for one Secutor and two Venators. The Admiral, himself, had managed to survive the destruction of his flagship and led the fleet to victory thereafter, though N’Lola wasn’t quite certain how he’d feel about her if he saw her again. However, she was quite certain she had no intent to track him down and ask.

                While they remained securely in orbit over Najarka, N’Lola instructed Aerla to transmit a communique to N’Gant-Zarvel to order one 9118 Heavy Carbine for every member of her crew including herself. Thereafter, a similar communique was sent to Concordian Crescent Technologies, to order two Heavy Assault-variant WESTAR-35 pistols for every member of the fleet’s personnel, again including herself. This resulted in a four-week wait, but after twenty days, a pair of Action VI-class transports emerged from hyperspace and unloaded their cargo throughout the fleet, taking payment from the fleet’s imperial account. Following the departure of the delivery freighters, N’Lola instructed Aerla to distribute the instruction that commanded every person throughout the fleet to achieve a certain accuracy rating with both the carbine and their pistols when both pistols were being used simultaneously. It would be expected that every member of fleet personnel would be able to maintain a ninety-five percent accuracy rate with the carbine, and a ninety percent accuracy rate with their pistols while wielding both simultaneously, as the goal to first achieve and thereafter sustain.

                “Admiral, Theta-class T-2c courier shuttle emerging from hyperspace,” reported her navigations officer, one day near the middle of the same year as the rebellion had announced their intentions.

                “They’re hailing us, Admiral,” said Aerla, a moment later.

                “Open a channel,” N’Lola replied, and her communications officer nodded.

                “This is the imperial courier shuttle Herald 13, repeat, this is imperial courier shuttle Herald 13,” said a male voice that was surprisingly familiar, “This is imperial courier Errol Renfrew with an urgent message for the Admiral. This is imperial courier shuttle Herald 13 requesting permission to dock.”

                “Permission granted, Herald 13,” replied N’Lola, surprised by the name and impressed by the young cadet’s apparent growth since the incident on Timora three years prior.

                “Herald 13 is aboard, Admiral,” her navigations officer said calmly.

                “Helm, maintain our position over the Imperial Biological Research Centre,” she replied, before turning and leaving the bridge, proceeding immediately to the hangar. She knew there would have to be an important reason that the Rebellion felt a need to get in touch with her with such urgency as to send her a message so directly, even if under the veneer of being an imperial messenger. On her arrival in the hangar, she discovered that it was not only Errol who waited, but the other cadet she had extracted as well, Kel Shira, both of whom smiled when they saw her.

                Each of the boys had grown quite noticeably; the curly-haired brunette had grown from sixty-six inches to seventy inches having almost straightened his hair, now in a shoulder-length ponytail ending in only a single corkscrew curl. He had the same light brown eyes that matched his hair of the same colour, and looked as if he was a solid weight of one hundred and seventy pounds of well-defined muscle, though slightly on the slimmer side compared to herself. Kel had grown to the same height as Errol, catching up on their prior one inch of difference in the intervening period of three years, his black hair contained in a braid that went to his shoulder blades. She met his midnight blue eyes for a moment, after making eye contact with Errol, and then returned her attention toward the brunette.

                “Your message must be quite urgent, to merit risking both of you in this rebel-infested sector.”

                “Indeed it is, Admiral,” replied Errol, “Is there somewhere private we may deliver our imperial dispatch?”

                “Yes,” she nodded, “Come with me.” Both young men nodded, and immediately followed her as she turned and walked out of the hangar to one of the ship’s elevators. They remained quiet as she led them down corridors until stepping into her ready-room, where she turned to look at them expectantly.

                “You have both grown well,” she said warmly, once the doors had closed. The boys smiled, perhaps a little shyly, at her praise.

                “Thank you,” replied Errol, “and allow us to congratulate you on your elevation to admiralty.” Kel nodded a bit in agreement to that.

                “Additionally, the Alliance has reason to believe that a certain Hutt incursion and the associated distraction it provided to the Empire, was of your making. If this is the case, the Alliance wishes to express its’ gratitude for that, as it allowed the commencement of several important covert operations during the month-long confrontation between the Hutts and Palpatine’s Empire,” Kel continued.

                “I assure you, our message is considered to be of considerable importance to the Alliance,” Errol proceeded, moving to the reason for their unexpected arrival, “We were sent, officially, by the Imperial Governor on the planet Halm. His name is Kaen Laut; he is a rebel sympathizer.”

                “I was unaware the Empire prized a planet like Halm enough to supply it with a Governor,” N’Lola replied.

                “Hence the reason he’s a rebel sympathizer,” said Kel, “Laut was previously the governor of a world having far more importance, and exiled to be the governor of Halm. He was removed for failure to espouse the xenophobic, humanocentrist ideologies. He was… displeased, with his reassignment.”

                “I see. His displeasure is quite understandable, Halm is an arid desert of a planet with nothing of any greater interest than mines the Empire does not use,” she observed.

                “Exactly so,” Kel confirmed, “Laut and the soldiers under his command are quite popular with the local Gran. As with Laut, the soldiers on Halm have been exiled for the mildness of their treatment toward what the Empire has denounced as inferior lifeforms. The Gran of Halm are a kind, mellow people, with hearts as warm as the desert sand.”

                “That is why we have come,” Errol picked up where Kel left off, “There is some manner of disease running rampant among the Gran, and Laut’s field-medics simply do not possess the necessary training or equipment required.”

                “Governor Laut requested the dispatch of a hospital ship, ideally a Pelta-class, but even an EF76 or a MedStar would have been welcomed. The Empire has ignored his requests, and would no doubt notice an Alliance fleet moving deep into imperial space,” Kel went on, “The Alliance is concerned that ignoring the outbreak of disease is an attempt to lure out an Alliance fleet. Over the last several years, Laut has also quietly accumulated an extraordinary cache of the crystals for which Halm is known, Adegan crystals. He has offered to provide these to whoever should restore the health of the Gran, and as you can no doubt imagine, such a cache would be a treasure trove to our allies, the Jedi who survived the Empire’s attempt to eradicate them.” N’Lola nodded a little bit in understanding as she listened to their explanation of the situation.

                “Helm, set a course for the Halm system, optimal speed,” N’Lola ordered over her communications link, and then proceeded out of the ready-room. As she walked out, she motioned for them to follow her once more.

                “Where to, now, admiral?” asked Errol.

                “Somewhere you can both have a meal during the trip,” N’Lola said, leading them to the ship’s cafeteria, and then excusing herself to return to her duties as admiral of the fleet. It took only a few hours for them to arrive at their destination, landing as many ships on the ground as possible, though the Indomitable was incapable of such a landing. For that reason, she took the Indomitable’s medical personnel, forty individuals in all, and descended to the planet in a Curich-class shuttle, trailed by the Theta-class T-2c that Errol and Kel had arrived in, coming down onto a landing pad beside the governor’s mansion. Immediately, a man who appeared to be forty-nine years old emerged, with hair of pure black with bright green eyes, standing six feet and two hundred pounds. He was dressed in the typical uniform of an imperial governor, and approached her readily.

                “Welcome to Halm,” he greeted, in the dry, ninety-two-degree heat of late morning, “I am thankful that you were able to come. I am Governor Laut; you may call me Kaen, if you wish.”

                “Thank you for the warm welcome,” N’Lola said, in a moderate play on words as well as the expression of sincere appreciation, “I am Admiral Vurkoth. You may call me N’Lola.”

                “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, then, N’Lola,” replied the Governor.

                “I am told that there is a disease affecting the Gran on this planet, one your people cannot handle,” she said, moving directly to the reason for her presence.

                “Yes; the planet is home to two hundred thousand imperial soldiers, exiled much as myself, and three million Gran. Already, more than six thousand Gran have died and a little more than one hundred thousand are now sick with the disease. The Gran have been kind to us, allowing us to feel welcome to share their land with them, even in spite of the fact the Empire forced their way onto this world uninvited. I would very much like to see the Gran healed, and this sickness eliminated; I have a cache of twenty crates of Adegan crystals I have accumulated since my appointment as Governor of Halm,” the Governor said at length, “I would happily part with them as a token of my gratitude, if your people could manage to heal the Gran.”

                “We will do our best. I have brought all medical personnel from the fleet with me, and the added security of many more troops on the ground in the event something unexpected should occur,” N’Lola replied.

                “Thank you, Admiral. We are, I admit, far out of our depth, here, so I will transfer all authority to you in the handling of this situation.”

                “Thank you, Governor. Please have all Gran who are showing symptoms gathered together in one place for a temporary quarantine, so that we can focus on eliminating the disease by purging the sickness from those who are ill.” At her words, he nodded, quickly conveying her orders under his own authority to his own soldiers, though it took three days to gather all who were ill. Once they were gathered into a concentrated location where they would be safely isolated from everyone else, N’Lola waited two additional days until all potential exposures had begun to show their symptoms: according to the Gran, it only became contagious on the fourth day of exposure. Finally, with every Gran who was potentially affected collected in a single location, N’Lola orders all Force-sensitive members of her fleet to begin using Force Healing on the Gran. Each of them could purge the sickness from only four of the infected Gran on each day, but fortunately, the disease took two standard months to kill.

                Each day, N’Lola and her people were able to reduce the number of infected by one thousand seven hundred and four individuals. By the sixtieth day, with the last of the Gran teetering near death with only ten days before their death would have been absolutely guaranteed, they had healed all of the one hundred and two thousand infected, and the disease was wholly eradicated. There was no way to know where the disease had come from, or what had caused it, but the fact that no others became ill during the course of the healing suggested it was not a common environmental factor. On the same day, an Action VI-class Rebel freighter landed on the planet to collect the gratuity that had been earned for the Alliance by their deep-cover operative.

                “Governor, of the Adegan crystals, how many are of the pontite variety?” asked N’Lola, as her rebel allies began to load some of the heavy crates aboard their ship.

                “Three crates,” the Governor replied, and pointed them out as the ones having a white colouration, whereas the others were green or blue, “the crystals have already been cut into shards appropriate for use in lightsabers; there are ten thousand cut shards in each crate.”

                “I will take the white crates myself,” she informed the rebel captain, as the familiar Leyakian woman turned to look at her quizzically, “It is important that I have access to the contents of these crates, Se. The war is beginning, and the Jedi are not the only ones who will need the weapons that these can produce.” The rebel captain paused for a moment, but then nodded her assent and understanding: as Selene, she had made already many contributions to their cause. If she felt that she needed three crates out of twenty that she had been the one to earn in the first place, Captain Kreff doubted that anyone would begrudge her that.

                “Understood, Admiral,” replied Se, with a nod, “I trust your decision on that matter. The Alliance has asked that I deliver you a message to request that you come to Skynara; there is an Alliance shipyard there, and the Alliance has been preparing many ships to modernize your fleet.”

                “How did you know I had taken command of the Fleet?”

                “One of the Jedi survivors received a vision, and when they described the one they saw, I recognized you, at once. Since then, we have been using a small portion of our resources to acquire ships to upgrade and modernize your fleet. The commandant of the shipyard will gladly take possession of any ship you wish replaced, and will upgrade all ships you wish to keep. There are also more than ten thousand starfighters in the system, which you may take for your crew, if you wish to replace the TIE Fighters your fleet currently carries,” replied Se Kreff, at length.

                “Thank you, we will travel there immediately, though it will then take me months of preparation in collecting the necessary personnel for such a fleet, but you can count on my fleet to enter the war within fifteen to twenty months’ time,” N’Lola replied, and the Leyakian nodded.

                “Understood, Admiral,” she replied, “It will be good to have you on our side. Your knowledge of the Empire will prove instrumental, as well any victories you may bring us. The people are finally beginning to balk at Imperial authority.” N’Lola nodded in answer, and once the crates were loaded aboard the shuttle, she bade farewell to Halm and to her allies in the Rebellion. Once her fleet had reached an extra-orbital position, she ordered the fleet to set their course for Skynara, and engage hyperdrive engines.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                Once she arrived at the secret rebel shipyard in the Skynara system, she discovered that a great improvement to her fleet had been constructed in advance, following the Jedi survivor’s vision. They waited to replace her Lancers, her Victory I-class flagship, and her Neutron Star-class modified carriers, with superior warships, and had additional ships if she wished to replace anything else. She elected to keep her Ton Falk-class carriers and the Acclamator-class troop transports, while the rebels replaced the Indomitable with a Providence-class warship that was a hybrid of carrier and destroyer. Similarly, they replaced the Avenger and the Harbinger with two fighter-carrier-variant MC80 Liberty-type warships, and performed widespread upgrades throughout her enhanced fleet. In accompaniment to this, she was provided with enough Human crewmembers to make sure all ships could operate at full efficiency while maintaining her cover as a loyal servant of the Empire.

                Likewise, the Alliance replaced the TIE Fighters throughout the fleet with a combination of ARC-170s and Cutlass-9s, and retrofitted every ship in the fleet to be equipped with Class 1.0 hyperdrive engines supported by Class 2.5 reserve hyperdrive engines. During this massive refit, over the course of two months, N’Lola requisitioned a small supply of beskar and synthetic lightsaber crystals. She used these materials, meditating over the crystals to transform them from clear to charcoal grey, and the two-month rest period, to create for herself a single long-handled lightsaber, and two tonfa-style lightsabers, all in a matching style. When her efforts were finally completed, each lightsaber had a sleek, smooth handle that gleamed black, and an intimidating blade of deep, ominous grey. Each of the tonfa-style lightsabers was fourteen inches long from one tip to the other, with a six-inch perpendicular handle located slightly off centre, favouring by two inches the side from which the weapon’s three-foot blade would emerge. Meanwhile, the long-handled lightsaber boasted of a five-foot blade connected to a twenty-inch handle, to maximize both strength and reach.

                While N’Lola built her lightsabers, the Alliance procured a shipment of enough N’Gant-Zarvel 9118 carbines and Concordian Crescent Technologies Heavy Assault-variant WESTAR-35s to arm every person in her fleet, as was her preference. Finally done with her work, N’Lola watched the crates of weapons, as they were loaded aboard ships using shuttles, the young admiral both heard and sensed the approach of her Leyakian comrade.

                “N’Lola, can I ask you something?” asked Se Kreff.

                “I believe you just did,” N’Lola replied with an amiable smirk and a sidelong glance to the woman who had stepped up to stand beside her, “but yes, you may.”

                “Why is it you chose the WESTAR-35?”

                “The Heavy Assault variant of the WESTAR-35 has an optimal range of twenty-five metres or less, though it is efficient up to seventy-five metres, and it can only fire fifty shots per standard power cell. However,” she replied, “this is more than compensated for by the Heavy Assault variant’s intense power. It will easily puncture heavy armour on an enemy infantryman with enough power to kill them, punch a hole clean through a speeder or a starfighter that’s daring too low, and will steadily erode the shields of soldiers, speeders, and starfighters. It can also punch a hole right through all but the heaviest-armoured terrestrial vehicles and will steadily eat away at shields on those targets, as well. In spite of the low range, it is an excellent all-around weapon for the engagement of enemy infantry or enemy armour; in the event the limited range should be a problem, the 9118 provides a suitable alternative.”

                “I see,” replied Captain Kreff, “A good weapon, if you have the strength and the accuracy for it, then.” N’Lola nodded in answer to that, her hands resting on the handle of the Heavy Assault-variant WESTAR-35s on each hip, her lightsaber tonfa over each shoulder. She had her carbine strapped to her right thigh, and the grip of her long-handled lightsaber strapped to the left for ease of access. As N’Lola considered a possible answer to the statement, however, a messenger ran in with information, a breathless human who looked to be no more than twenty years old.

                “An Imperial Fleet has just entered the Reuss system! The Reussi are a peaceful people on a planet of twenty-five billion, passive protestors peacefully petitioning for freedom from the Empire’s rule. The arrival of a main battle fleet does not bode well for them, but we do not have enough warships in this area to be able to stop such a fleet from inflicting terrible casualties on Reuss VIII. It would take at least two days for us to bring the necessary manpower into the system.” As N’Lola listened, her eyes narrowed critically in consideration, then frowned a bit in turn, as she knew there was no particularly good solution to this situation.

                “Who is the highest-ranking Alliance officer in the shipyard?”

                “That would be me,” replied a handsome, black-haired human with greyish-hazel irises and a light skin tone darkened by a healthy tan. He looked to be six foot tall and two hundred ten pounds, well-muscled and probably about thirty-four years old, dressed in a striking uniform of his original homeworld, though she didn’t recognize it and would not have been able to place it. It consisted of dark blue pants of ankle-length and a half-sleeved jacket of the same that had black metal buttons up the front, the latter worn over an ash grey dress shirt. This was accented by a wide, black leather belt with a plain nickel-plated buckle, and ankle-high combat boots of the same nickel-buckled black colour, fabrication, with durasteel caps in both the front and the heel.

                “Well, officially, anyway. Maybe,” he added as he approached to stand in front of the young Bpfassh admiral, “Since we are the same rank, technically. General Jacen Nire, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Admiral Selene.”

                “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, as well, General,” she replied, “I have a plan to delay the imperials long enough for a rebel fleet to reach Reuss VIII. There is, however, a small problem with the plan.”

                “It would require a sacrifice of some kind, I suspect?” asked the General, and N’Lola nodded in answer.

                “You would need to evacuate this entire shipyard, sacrifice a handful of ships including the ones you recently replaced, whose schematics I hope you can download quickly for tactical purposes, and offload as much cargo as your freighters could carry,” she replied.

                “You would need to destroy the shipyard, and several ships,” Jacen replied thoughtfully, “If it would give us time to manoeuvre into ambushing and eliminating an entire enemy fleet, I do not think our leaders would be opposed to the sacrifice of a shipyard and numerous ships, but no lives.” N’Lola nodded in response, promptly.

                “Precisely my thoughts,” N’Lola replied, “You will need all possible manpower, but many of the ships here are too new or too newly acquired to be missed if they are lost.”

                “Captain Kreff, order all torpedoes and missiles that Selene’s Fleet can use transported to her ships as quickly as possible, and order everything else evacuated into the freighters and the ships of all present captains. Admiral, what additional orders?” the General began, then turned to her expectantly.

                “Order all ships not made in the last three months to withdraw to a position two hundred thousand kilometres outside the firing range of my fleet once my fleet has moved into position,” she instructed, “We’ll get one shot at this, and the timing and performances must be flawless. We will destroy the shipyard, the eleven ships I brought that I will not be keeping, and however many additional ships you leave behind. When the Imperial Fleet arrives, you broadcast panicked orders to retreat and engage hyperdrives, to escape the system. You will have no more than forty-eight hours to marshal your forces in Reuss: and you must be prepared to respond with a panicked retreat in that location, as well. If my plan is to succeed, you must appear frightened of my fleet and as if you are attempting to capture Reuss from the imperials and not attempting to defend Reuss from imperial forces.” Jacen nodded in answer, contemplating that as Se Kreff raced off with the human messenger to translate her orders.

                “It may require you to give your name, to make the performance truly convincing, however, General,” N’Lola acknowledged, and he nodded.

                “That will be no trouble. I have long suspected my name could not forever be kept from the Empire’s ears,” Jacen replied, and N’Lola nodded solemnly. Once all was in position, she broadcast a signal on the imperial channels declaring that she had discovered an insurrectionist shipyard in the Skynara system, oppressing the locals, damaging economic stabilities. She declared that she had seized freshly constructed rebel warships after she was forced to order the abandonment of several vessels, including her imperial flagship and the capturing of new vessels to replace those lost. Immediately, she received an answer from the fleet in the Reuss system.

                “Admiral Vurkoth, come in, Admiral Vurkoth! This is Admiral Rebecca Priam! Our fleet is currently inbound on your location! Admiral Vurkoth, hold fast! Reinforcements are incoming!” came the voice of one of the Empire’s few female admirals, a woman with an impeccable military record and a preference for hard military targets, according to the Indomitable’s transferred databank. As the imperial fleet loomed near on their sensors, some three dozen ships in strength themselves, the rebel warships hung back at position just two hundred thousand kilometres out of the range of the weapons of N’Lola’s fleet.

                “Admiral, imperial fleet arriving in sixty seconds,” reported her helmsman.

                “Order all ships in the fleet to load a full bombardment of missiles and torpedoes. Target the Lancers, Neutron Stars, the Victory I, the shipyard, and the rebel vessels still connected to it,” she said, and her communications officer immediately transmitted the short-range communications instructions.

                “All ships ready to fire, Admiral,” Aerla replied.

                “Imperial Fleet arriving in twenty seconds, Admiral,” her helmsman updated.

                “All ships, open fire.” As the Imperial Fleet arrived, they were only just in time to watch the full bombardment slam into the rebel facility, destroying not only the eleven vessels she had been forced to abandon, but also four MC80 Liberty-type star cruisers and eight Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, which N’Lola had not taken.

                “Set a course for the rebel starships and order the fleet to engage maximum sub-light engines, and reload all weapons tubes,” she instructed, “Admiral Priam, we have managed to turn the tide on the rebel filth!”

                “Oh, no!” came a panicked voice over the communications link, “The Empire is too strong! We can’t possibly fight them!”

                “There’s no hope!”

                “This is General Jacen Nire, all ships retreat! Repeat, all ships retreat! Get out of here! Get out of here now!” Immediately, nearly two dozen Alliance warships fled the system by engaging their hyperdrives for some unknowable destinations, in all likelihood scattering to the wind. At least, that was how she hoped Admiral Priam would interpret it, as she turned her attention toward the Imperial Fleet and examined it. It was centered on an Executor-class star dreadnought flanked by two Mandator III-class star dreadnoughts and eight Procurator-class star battlecruisers, these supported with ten Tector-class star destroyers, twelve Gladiator-class star destroyers, and twenty-four Lancer-class Frigates.

                “Admiral Vurkoth that was a masterful display of prowess!” commended Admiral Priam, “I am moving my fleet to your position now. I would like a full debriefing on the events leading up to your victory, here.”

                “Of course, Admiral Priam; please come aboard at your leisure,” N’Lola replied.

                “I will be there shortly,” replied the fellow admiral, and a few minutes later, she was moving towards the Vindicator, piloting a Theta-class T-2c shuttle. As the imperial officer came aboard, N’Lola met her in the hangar bay, bowing her head respectfully with her eyes remaining on the admiral as she disembarked from her personal transport shuttle. She knew, the hierarchy of the Empire being what it was, it was likely that N’Lola would be considered as the equal of Admiral Priam, despite that the two were the exact same rank. The Empire’s humanocentricity would exalt the human woman above her, though the question was rather one of whether Admiral Priam would agree with that, or enforce that.

                “Welcome aboard the Vindicator, Admiral Priam.” The woman was five feet eight inches and probably about one hundred sixty pounds of corded musculature, with pitch-black hair of shoulder length and greyish blue-green eyes. She looked to be about thirty-two years old, in a grey-green uniform having an admiral’s bar over her left breast and a circular red button on her cap.

                “Thank you, Admiral Vurkoth. Your fleet is rather impressive, though I must confess I was surprised to learn of another woman in the imperial admiralty,” said Admiral Priam, “I must also admit it shocked me to discover you’re a Bpfassh. I had thought the only non-human in the imperial admiralty was that egomaniacal Chiss and that Feeorin brute.” N’Lola rolled her shoulders faintly, as she began to walk out of the hangar bay, leading the human admiral to a more private location. As they crossed into one of the many corridors, she could sense that the human woman was taking a moment to examine her more intently.

                “I must say, though, it seems that the Emperor has placed tremendous faith in your abilities to grant you the rank of admiralty so young, and to permit you to carry multiple lightsabers,” continued Admiral Priam.

                “The Emperor did not grant me the rank of admiralty, so much as that I took it, by force. This fleet was once under the command of that Feeorin brute you mentioned… until he was killed by his apprentice.”

                “I see, and what happened to that apprentice?”

                “She killed him when she grew stronger than him, and took his place,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the human admiral, who had halted briefly with the sudden conclusion she was potentially speaking with a Sith Adept.

                “Ah, I see,” replied the admiral, promptly moving to catch up with the younger admiral, “This explains much, particularly the unusual number of nonhuman personnel on this ship.” N’Lola nodded as she stepped into the ship’s elevator and Admiral Priam followed behind her, turning to face her as the elevator started to ascend toward a higher deck, where they could talk.

                “Personally, I do not mind colleagues of an other-than-human species of origin, whether those are moderately or dramatically non-human, in the military. However, those in the admiralty who feel this way are not well-advised to make mention of such a thing if we wish to long retain our posting.”

                “Of course, and that is why I chose a much more diverse crew,” N’Lola replied, covering her emotions well, both facially and through use of a Force Veil. There was no telling if the woman was secretly Force-sensitive and no telling whether her fleet included inquisitors themselves powerful enough in the Force to be a threat at distance. As a precautionary measure, every Force-sensitive in her fleet was using the skill of Force Veil to conceal their sensitivity from prying minds.

                “I suspect that is why the rebel filth has been so successful against our glorious Empire, though no one would want to come out and publicly admit as much,” N’Lola continued, “Aside from my fleet and that of Admiral Thrawn, nearly the entire imperial military is exclusively human. This rebel rabble, however… they marshal the sentiments of frustration and exclusion of a thousand worlds against us! We must be willing to do whatever is necessary to protect our grand and exalted Emperor from the threat posed by these rebel worms!”

                “Agreed,” Admiral Priam agreed, caught unaware by the younger admiral’s seeming vehemence and intense loyalism, “Some of the admiralty have expressed concerns we may need to abandon our claims to the Outer Rim… a few are even worried we may have renounce our claim to the Mid Rim. Their ‘Alliance’ is growing stronger, day-by-day; peaceful dissenters in the Mid Rim, hundreds of planets in the Outer Rim teetering on the brink of open rebellion, and rebel victories mounting…”

                “Indeed, the last several months have been catastrophic for the Empire, how could it possibly get any worse?” asked N’Lola, as she stepped into her ready-room for the official debrief the human admiral had requested.

                “How did you come to know of the rebel shipyard over Skynara?” asked Admiral Priam, turning her attention to the more official matters and away from their unofficial conversation.

                “I found myself looking at the star-maps, wondering how I could best serve the Empire in this growing war,” N’Lola replied, “at which point, I noticed that this entire sector had not been scouted in an unusually long time. So I found collaborators on Reuss eight, and they informed me of an unusual amount of rebel activity in this section of the Empire’s territory.”

                “The people of Reuss assisted you in tracking down the rebels? This will change my orders, dramatically,” the human admiral said in answer, thoughtfully.

                “The rebels were stronger than we had first perceived, however, and though we managed to kill many aboard the ships, their operatives were able to inflict considerable damage on many of my ships. The rebel filth targeted the hyperdrives to cripple the ships. We were forced to make an all-out raid on the station and seize control of several of their ships, which is why you’ve no doubt noticed we are operating with a skeletal crew, right now.”

                “I had noticed that,” nodded the human admiral, “would you like me to transfer command of some personnel on my ship into your command?”

                “No, that won’t be necessary. I am about to set a course for a few key worlds to seek out imperial loyalists I can enlist who are eager to commit their lives to the protection of the Emperor,” N’Lola replied, and Admiral Priam nodded in understanding.

                “A very noble endeavour, then,” Admiral Priam agreed, “I must admit, I’ve never seen a crew that is armed as heavily as yourself and your crew are. Do you feel that it is truly necessary to arm so many people?”

                “Indeed, an armed crewmember is a crewmember who can kill an intruder if someone should board the ship. I mandate accuracy with both pistols and carbines for every man and woman under my command. I can assure you, Admiral Priam: my ships will not be boarded or seized from imperial control.”

                “A cunning decision, even those rebel fools will not expect engineers and medics to be carrying weapons, or possessing considerable skill in the use of those weapons,” Admiral Priam agreed.

                “Precisely, which is also the reason for my choice to expand my crew beyond imperial horizons: it would be foolish to deny that there are potential loyalists from many species other than humans, or that some of those possess a host of abilities well beyond the physical capacity of a human.” Admiral Priam nodded in agreement, acknowledging the truth in N’Lola’s estimation of things. She remained on the ship for another two days before departing, spending a considerable amount of time talking to the younger admiral and asking numerous questions. Questions, N’Lola was certain, were perhaps as much intended to make sure the Bpfassh admiral was as loyal as she seemed, as to learn what N’Lola had managed to discover about the rebels during a period of boarding their shipyard and seizing their vessels.

                Finally, the admiral returned to her own ship, taking her fleet back to the planet of Reuss VIII to update high command on the aid the people of the planet had provided to Admiral Vurkoth in ferreting out and destroying a rebel spaceport. Even as they arrived in the star system, N’Lola knew they were going to be attacked rather promptly, and though she lamented the fact that she would not yet get to destroy some imperial butchers, herself, she knew this was important to the maintenance of her cover. She consoled herself with the fact there would be other opportunities, better chances to weaken the oppressive regime that tyrannized and persecuted all nonhumans in their reach, and any humans who had a conflicting opinion, as well.

                “Aerla, transmit orders to the fleet to set a course for the Reuss system, matching the Vindicator’s pace,” she ordered, allowing Admiral Priam to have time to arrive in the system and to be properly ambushed. Then, she carefully modified their transit speed throughout the crossing, slowing gradually as they neared their destination.

                “Admiral,” said her navigations officer at last, “long-range sensors are able to track starships inside the Reuss system in real-time.”

                “On-screen,” she instructed, as the screen ahead suddenly populated with dots and a star-map of the system, “Apply EOA colour designations; imperial red, rebel blue, scale marker size proportionate to ship size. Put a ring on the flagships.” Immediately, the dots translated in colour and scaling and she watched intently, as they approached the star system themselves. There were ten thousand small blue spots swarming across Admiral Priam’s fifty-seven ships, and N’Lola knew that the rebels had started with a fighter-swarm.

                “Slow to minimum hyperspace,” she instructed, her fleet immediately decelerating. She winced as the small blue spots vanished, but observed the markers calmly: she knew people died in war, and while hundreds of little blue dots were disappearing every minute, so were some of Admiral Priam’s warships. Already, the swarm of rebel fighters had eliminated both of the largest red circles without rings around them, representing the two lesser star dreadnoughts alongside Priam’s Executor-class, even as a massive host of red dots joined the battle. The imperial fleet had nowhere near ten thousand starfighters to their name in total, and the fighters that emerged were being shredded before having a chance to contribute anything to the battle, aside from debris. After several minutes, the smallest blue spots on their map started to vanish in an incredibly rapid succession, diminishing from more than six thousand who had survived it to zero, in mere seconds.

                “All surviving rebel starfighters have entered hyperspace to flee the battle, Admiral,” clarified her navigations officer, knowing she would want information about the evolving course of the battle. From fifty-seven large red dots to thirty-two, the fleet lost two of three star dreadnoughts with only the flagship surviving out of those three, as well as what appeared to be ten of the Lancers, eight of the Gladiators, and five of the Procurators. Even as the Admiral’s fleet was recovering and closing their formation, the remaining blue dots on the map emerged from their concealment behind the far side of the planet. Three score warships of sufficient scale to engage the enemy fleet warship to warship, their fighters now obliterated and a considerable decrease in their overall strength won by the fighters at a noticeable cost, their surprise appearance came with a cost. Admiral Priam’s imperial fleet was unprepared for a second wave of the ambush, and the rebel warships quickly obliterated the remaining Lancers, two additional Gladiators, and the last three of the Procurators, in what must have been a full-scale bombardment. At the same time, the ringed red circle of Admiral Priam’s flagship flickered violently, though it did not disappear entirely, suggesting it had been hit, and hard.

                A moment later, she watched as seventeen blue circles disappeared, as well as four of Admiral Priam’s star destroyers, leaving her with what N’Lola estimated to be a crippled Executor, six Tectors, and two Gladiators.

                “Aerla, transmit orders for all ships to accelerate to maximum hyperspace on my mark,” N’Lola commanded, and Aerla transmitted the instruction immediately. She would have only to touch the console one more time to cause the entire fleet to accelerate to their maximum speed, as the rebel fleet dropped from forty-three to twenty-six as they destroyed the remaining Tectors.

                “Now!” she ordered, and immediately the ships accelerated to their maximum speed as the rebel ships started to encircle the Gladiators, which began to flicker themselves. Seconds later, N’Lola’s fleet came slicing into the system out of hyperspace, discovering the massive field of debris from the battle. The Executor had suffered extreme damage, the two survivors Gladiators looked like they might suffer catastrophic system damage and explode at any second. At the same time, the surviving Alliance warships looked like most of them had taken a severe beating, though six were undamaged, including their flagship, which was a relief.

                “No! Not again!”

                “All ships, retreat, I repeat, all ships, retreat!” shouted the rebel admiral, whose voice she did not recognize, “The imperials have summoned reinforcements! All ships retreat! We will liberate the Reuss system another day!” As the admiral shouted his commands, rebel ships vanished into hyperspace, fleeing before the very sight of her fleet as it arrived in the system. Even before her fleet could close to firing range, all twenty-six surviving rebel vehicles were gone from the system, leaving it still securely under imperial authority.

                “Admiral Vurkoth! Your timing is unmatched! How did you know we would have need of your assistance?”

                “The Force showed me a vision shortly after your departure, and we knew that you would be in dire peril if we did not come to your assistance,” answered N’Lola, “Can you offer us any kind of damage report? Your ships look as if they are dangerously near to self-detonation.” There was a long moment of silence, as Admiral Priam considered the request, or perhaps she was using some kind of shipboard diagnostic scanner to collect the damage report that had been requested by her fellow, junior admiral.

                “The bridge is a wreck, most computers and databases are fried; life support operational, onboard scanners operational, ship diagnostic scanner operational. Oh, feke, Great Bantha,” she paused, a sort of horror in her voice in the last two words, “more… more than three hundred and twenty thousand dead on this ship… hold on… I need… I need to check on the Gladiators…” This was followed by another long pause, and N’Lola almost felt sorry for her, this might have been her first command as an admiral, so she wasn’t hardened yet, but it meant this was also her first failure, and the Empire would undoubtedly give her a second chance. Still, everyone on those ships was an enemy, not an ally, and was the servant of a brutal and oppressive regime, which meant she had to remain objective in her sympathies.

                “Gladiators report… one hundred ninety-seven survivors on the Markus, two hundred sixteen on the Lynx,” the imperial admiral continued.

                “Admiral Priam, are any of your ship’s hangar bays intact?”

                “Yes… yes! Great Bantha, I am glad I requisitioned those GR-75s,” she replied, “I think… I think enough of them survived to get everyone off the ships safely, but we’ll need to bring at least six to the Gladiators.”

                “Don’t worry about the rebels, Admiral, we’ll cover you! Just get all your survivors aboard those ships and set their self-destruct so the rebel filth doesn’t get their hands on them,” N’Lola urged the human admiral.

                “Right!” replied Admiral Priam, seizing the lifeline the young Bpfassh admiral was offering her, and in short order, the doors of one of the Executor-class star dreadnought’s hangar bays was opening. Moments later, more than half of the two hundred of their medium transports emerged: ninety metres long with no actual armament but room to accommodate six crew and ninety passengers, each GR-75 even included a hyperdrive. The imperials would be safe, provided they ran into no trouble in the crossing to a secure location, and within an hour, N’Lola watched as all three surviving warships exploded in space, with one hundred and five GR-75’s sliding into a protected position amid ships in N’Lola’s fleet.

                “What will be your destination, Admiral Priam?”

                “Please escort us to the Zhar system – we will set a course for the moon Gall.”

                “You will be safe with us, Admiral. The rebels will not have an opportunity to capture you or your survivors.”

                “Thank you, Admiral. The Empire will hear of your loyalty,” promised Admiral Priam, “We are prepared to engage our hyperdrives at your mark.”

                “Aerla, notify the fleet to set a course for the moon Gall in the Zhar system, activate hyperdrive engines at class-4 velocity, on my mark,” she said, waiting as her chief communications officer transmitted the instructions, then nodded, “Mark.” All at once, the ships in N’Lola’s fleet leapt into hyperspace, accompanied by the medium transports of Admiral Priam and her survivors. It was a short journey using class four hyperdrive engines, being less than seven thousand light years, but it was an important one to make. Once they were safely there, N’Lola watched as the GR-75 mediums descended into the moon’s atmosphere and, accordingly, to safety.

                “Thank you, Admiral Vurkoth,” came the transmission from Admiral Priam once her medium transports had landed at Gall’s primary spaceport, “I know this has caused you a considerable delay in bringing your new fleet up to speed and I greatly appreciate your assistance.”

                “It was no trouble, Admiral,” N’Lola replied, “Farewell, Admiral. I hope you will not have long to wait for a replacement fleet.”

                “Farewell, Admiral,” replied Admiral Priam, before terminating the communications-line to begin the long process of reporting on the course of events, requisitioning a replacement fleet. Even as N’Lola’s fleet swung around and went to hyperspace en route to her chosen destinations to bring her fleet back to optimal performance, before they even reached Ryloth, they picked up radio transmissions where Admiral Priam openly praised Admiral Vurkoth’s and her timely arrival. It seemed that Admiral Priam was a woman of honour, and meant not to give NAVCOR Command the opportunity to attempt to spin it as if other Humans had come to her aid.

                The first section of her resupply proved easy enough: at Ryloth, she easily increased her volume of Twi’leks to three thousand one hundred eight individuals. Similarly, it was easy to select an additional one thousand fifty-eight Annoo-dat Primes and a like number of Barabel, on their homeworlds, before traveling to the planet of Chistor. There, she was able to increase the fleet’s manpower to include seventy-five thousand five hundred thirty-six Chistori, all of whom security personnel. However, it was her visits to the moon Iktotch, and the planets Panatha and Alpheridies, to acquire additional Force Healers, which proved to take quite a bit more time. Indeed, it took more than fifteen months to find three hundred Miraluka Force Healers, three thousand six hundred Epicanthix Force Healers, and four hundred twenty Iktotchi Force Healers, who were willing to receive combat training.

                By then, the war had changed dramatically: in an attempt to prove the futility of resistance to Imperial might, the planet of Alderaan had been destroyed, and two billion humans killed, including the legendary Bail Organa. N’Lola had never met him, but she knew the name, she felt the shockwave that was sent rippling through the Force when the planet was destroyed, and lamented that she would never have the opportunity to meet him in person. The attempt had failed miserably, a catastrophic miscalculation: the destruction of Alderaan had triggered massive, widespread protests throughout the Mid Rim and even the Expansion Region, and sparked full-scale planetary rebellions throughout the Outer Rim. More than that, a battle in the Yavin system had resulted in a spectacular victory for the Alliance to Restore the Republic, and that had changed everything.

                Amid the widespread backlash, N’Lola received orders from high command to withdraw to the Inner Rim as urgently as possible, to provide reinforcement to the Empire’s authority. The orders came on the premise that it would not do for an imperial war heroine who had destroyed a rebel base and rescued a fellow imperial admiral, either killed or, worse yet, captured by the rebellion. By the first month of the first year after the Battle of Yavin, N’Lola received a communique with her new orders: she was to have free reign to patrol throughout the Inner Rim. Her orders further expressly forbade her from leaving the Inner Rim to enter the intensely active battlefields either nearer the Core worlds or further from it. She travelled to an orbit over the planet of Donadus, home of the Donadi, where she took two weeks to learn their legendary meditation techniques.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ongoing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                For the first six weeks of her new orders, N’Lola charted a path around the Inner Rim that carried the fleet from one imperial world to the next, feigning obedience to the orders by traversing a precise path. Her fleet remained equidistant from both the Expansion Region and what N’Lola referred to as the ‘Colonial Rim,’ which most star-maps regarded more briefly as the Colonies. As her ship entered the Pa Tho system and took a high, temporary orbit above the planet of the same name, she was prepared for a few days of planetary oversight to see that the planet was remaining lawful, when she received a call to the bridge of the Vindicator. Immediately, she walked the corridors to the bridge, with a warm and friendly smile for every person on her crew as she passed them in one hallway or another, on their way to or from either work, practice, bathing, or having something to eat.

                “Report,” N’Lola said, as she stepped onto the bridge and approached the admiral’s seat, settling comfortably into it as her chief communications officer answered her prompt.

                “We are receiving a long-range communique, Admiral, twenty-second delay; text-only, originating from the Wroona system, grid coordinates L-15. Admiral Tandres entreats for the pleasure of your dialogue,” reported Aerla.

                “… entreats for the pleasure of my dialogue?”

                “His words, Admiral,” replied Aerla.

                “Ik’ya hoga-tu,” she said to herself and Aerla half-turned in her seat to look at her, though the eyebrows of her fellow natives of Bpfassh rose a bit in response. It was a Bpfassh exclamation, and not a particularly nice one, that was primarily used by farmers, ranchers, and orchard-keepers, on their homeworld.

                “Admiral?” queried Aerla.

                “Inform Admiral Tandres that I am listening,” N’Lola replied, and Aerla nodded, rotating her seat, and then transmitting the admiral’s official response, politely excluding the exclamation she had never heard and did not know how to spell.

                “A militant criminal syndicate has moved into the Wroona system and is now threatening imperial authority. The Wroonians refuse to engage the criminals directly, citing that following the Empire’s forceful conquest, they have learned it is not their place to bear arms or usurp imperial authority. Admiral Tandres laments that he is presently out of his depth and desperately requires assistance from an experienced veteran of the admiralty.”

                “Helm, set a course for the Wroona system, optimal speed,” N’Lola instructed, “Aerla, advise the admiral to await our arrival at a high orbit, and instruct him to be prepared to come aboard for a debrief on the situation at hand.” In answer, Aerla nodded as the fleet activated their hyperdrive engines, transmitting the instruction while the engines were still in the activation process. It would take a few hours to arrive, though the twenty-two-year-old admiral found herself unconcerned about that, instead contemplating her impending meeting with the system admiral.

                As they arrived, she found the system admiral commanded a fleet that consisted of one Executor accompanied by ten Procurators and thirteen Gladiators. It was surprising to her that he needed assistance: he undoubtedly had more personnel in his fleet than her, though she had a substantial contingent of forces compatible with landing soldiers on the ground if the situation were to demand it. Immediately upon their arrival, she saw a GR-75 medium transport as it emerged from the Executor’s hangar bay, approaching the Vindicator. N’Lola descended through the decks until she stood in the hangar bay, watching as the medium transport floated up and passed through the force field that permitted the hangar bay to remain pressurized. Once it was inside, the massive hangar bay doors whirred shut as the force field was deactivated, and she stood on the fourth-level balcony as the transport’s doors opened to lower the disembarkation ramp. Once it was down, she watched as a squad of twenty armed men disembarked, the admiral’s personal bodyguard, taking positions to stand at attention in a semicircular loop around the ramp, two curved rows deep. Finally, the admiral himself walked down the ramp, wearing a dark grey-green uniform with admiral’s markings on it, including a black leather belt with a large steel buckle that housed a secret compartment.

                The Admiral, himself, was a man of forty-eight years, with long black hair impeccably well maintained and in a ponytail of elbow-length. An example of the human potential for masculine beauty, he had soft, light-toned skin, athletic but not in the manner of a veteran soldier. He had manicured nails, a clean-cut countenance devoid of either moustache or beard, and the blaster pistol on his hip had a polished grip with a chromatic, gunmetal-grey pigmentation. He was neither career soldier nor career sailor; indeed, it seemed rather obvious that he was from an aristocratic family, which no doubt provided imperial coffers with a voluminous donation, for which he was rewarded with an admiralty. Still, he was roughly the same height as her, perhaps less than an inch taller.

                His black leather boots, having similar steel buckles, touched down on the hangar floor as he took a moment to look around; she could see he was taken aback by the number of nonhumans. He had probably never seen so many, all at the same time, all in the same place. She could sense his surprise at the sight of so many nonhumans, not merely moving about freely but serving as armed members of the crew. As he stared in wonderment, N’Lola took a moment, and channeled her inner serenity and self-discipline through the lens of the Force.

                “Welcome aboard the Vindicator, Admiral,” N’Lola said, from the fourth level balcony of the hangar bay, to which Admiral Tandres responded by looking up, startled out of his observation of average crewmen. Once his eyes and the eyes of his bodyguard were on her, blinking in surprise that the admiral was herself a Bpfassh and not a human, she tapped into the Force. Casually, smoothly, her entire form rose up from the balcony, hovering over the edge of the balcony’s rail and then floating down in that direction as their eyes widened, awestruck by the demonstration of power. She maintained her body’s precise posture, standing upright with her hands in front of her, pressing the tips of her small, middle, and index fingers, as well as her thumbs, together. Likewise, N’Lola pressed the middle bone of each ring finger pressed against each other, as she slid with a seemingly effortless grace through the air at a diagonal, until she stood a scant ten metres ahead of him. Fortunately for him, the admiral managed to recover his composure before N’Lola touched down on the hangar floor, at which point he approached with an aristocratic sort of self-confidence.

                “System Admiral Garamond Tandres, Wroona system,” said the admiral as a self-introduction.

                “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Admiral N’Lola Vurkoth,” she replied, “You command a rather impressive fleet, Admiral, and right on the borders of the Givin Domain and the Harrin Sector, no less.” Between the more than three hundred thousand personnel on his flagship, twelve thousand on each Procurator, and probably nearly two thousand five hundred personnel on each Gladiator, she suspected his fleet had at least sixty thousand personnel more than her own had.

                “Indeed, the Empire has entrusted me with a rather considerable level of manpower. However, I must confess, I had thought this would be… a far easier appointment than it has turned out to be,” said the admiral, “We are deep in imperial territory, and I had not expected that anyone would challenge us here. Lamentably, I am far out of my depth, and I do not know how to handle this situation.”

                “I take it this is your first command, then?” she asked, and he nodded in answer.

                “It is, and I am not ashamed to defer to the counsel of an experienced veteran,” he replied, grudgingly offering control over the situation to someone not only nonhuman but also considerably younger and prettier than he was.

                “Understood, Admiral,” she replied, with a faint intake of breath, “I will require an incident report regarding the situation on Wroona.”

                “Of course,” replied Admiral Tandres, “The criminal element is called the Crymorah syndicate. It is allegedly run by a handful of wealthy families with centuries-old connections to organized crime, who at some point started to work together for mutual interest. They are now attempting to extend their reach into Wroona system, and they have taken some extremely antagonistic measures in the pursuit of such. Already, the Crymorah syndicate has assassinated the planetary governor, the planetary general, all four continental dukes, every imperial infantry colonel on the planet, and roughly nine out of every ten majors. They also managed to seize control of several planetary defense mechanisms, as well, but we were able to destroy those before they were able to begin firing on my fleet.”

                “I see, and what do we know about the Crymorah syndicate?”

                “Sadly, extremely little is known about them. They are secretive and reclusive, doing their best to remain as unnoticed as possible on the planets where their ruling families live. They were a thorn for the old Republic, and have remained a thorn for the Empire subsequently; we have never been able to truly eliminate them, nor have we ever had success in curbing their expansionism… but this is the first time they have become militarily violent.”

                “I see. I may have a solution, but it will involve battle and it will involve you entrusting the captains in your command to act freely in the engagement of the enemy,” she replied, “Your captains will need to be granted autonomy to do what is necessary against the enemies that will come on your fleet.”

                “Understood,” he replied, then blinked, “Wait, where will you be?”

                “Elsewhere,” she said simply, and then added, “breaking the syndicate – permanently. They have trifled the Empire for more than time enough as it is, but to dare to carry out the assassination of authorities and launching openly militant operations against the imperial military, demands… a more austere response.” The Admiral’s eyes widened a little in response to the statement, but he nodded slowly.

                “Understood, Admiral,” he replied, “I will return to my ship and instruct my fleet to be prepared for battle at any moment.” She nodded, and watched as he and then his bodyguard boarded the vessel and quickly departed from the ship, soon vanishing from sight as the hangar doors shut once more.

                “Nuav, I will need Tenat Noore,” N’Lola said, following the departure of the aristocratic admiral, “Our first task will be to identify the locations of this Crymorah syndicate’s ruling families.” Nuav nodded, and departed while N’Lola returned to her ready room to await the arrival of one of her Jilruan assassins. Less than an hour later, a chime sounded throughout her ready room.

                “Enter,” she said, and the doors whirred open to reveal the Jilruan she had called for. Seven feet two inches in height and two hundred seventy pounds of slim, corded musculature, he had an impressive frame with pale, bluish skin that looked to her as if it had the faintest hint of a violet-blue tint to it. He was wearing the traditional uniform of imperial naval security personnel, though she knew it bothered him she also knew that he knew the importance of all their current efforts. He stepped in, keeping his shimmering, bioluminescent irises of cornsilk yellow focused on her.

                “How can I be of service, Admiral?”

                “I need you to make contact with the Black Sun. Our current target is the Crymorah syndicate, and I need to know the location of the estates of the ruling families of the syndicate,” she replied, “The Black Sun will no doubt be able to provide this. Inform them that I have need to have a direct communication with them over a secure transmission line.” In answer, Tenat nodded promptly.

                “Understood, Admiral, it will be my pleasure to assist in this task,” he replied, and she smiled a little bit at the thirty-year-old assassin.

                “Someday, Tenat, we may all be less formal,” she said, and the Jilruan offered a smile she found charming. A fair number of people found it hard to get around, the fact that Jilruans did not have noses, but for her part, N’Lola had never thought of that as too big an issue. In some ways, perhaps it made them more secure against being killed as easily, having no nosebone that could be struck from underneath and jabbed fatally into the brain, after all.

                “That is the day I work for, my Lady,” replied Tenat, in a moment of warmth, before bowing his head to her respectfully and departing from the ready-room, requiring a change of clothes to slip into the criminal underworld. It would be easier for him than most: everyone knew, most Jilruans were enslaved by the Hutts, who were themselves notorious crime lords. The fact that he might have been in service to someone as cruel, vindictive, brutal, and wealthy, as a Hutt, meant most of the underworld would give him a wide berth, because most lacked the spine to challenge the Hutts and their economic power.

 

                Finally, eight days after his departure from the fleet aboard a Curich-class shuttle, Tenat returned, landing in the Vindicator’s hangar bay and proceeding to the admiral’s ready-room immediately.

                “The Black Sun instructed me to return to you with this holo-communicator, which I naturally disassembled, examined, and reassembled; it is not trapped in any manner and contains no self-destruct protocol. They also wished me to express their irritation at your elimination of several Black Sun operatives on your previous encounter with their organization, and warned that whatever you seek, that will factor into the cost.”

                “Naturally,” she said, then nodded to him, “Excellently done, Tenat. Please return to the hangar bay, instruct the flight mechanics to prepare the Wraith for transit.” The Jilruan nodded immediately, turning and exiting the ready-room to grant the admiral privacy, before moving quickly to the hangar bay to inform them the admiral would require her personal transport prepared for use. Then, she activated the holo-communicator and waited a moment for a reaction from the one who had sent it with her assassin. About one minute later, the holo-communicator beeped two times and then chimed, before emitting luminous, pale blue light in the form of a translucent human figure, hooded and robed.

                “Admiral Vurkoth,” greeted the man, his gruff voice sounding hollow and mechanical because of the holo-communicator, “I must admit, we of the Black Sun were… surprised, when you sent a messenger to us.”

                “The fact that some of your agents once attempted to kill me does not diminish the fact that you are some of the galaxy’s best information vendors,” she replied coolly, seated behind her desk with the holo-communicator sitting on top of it.

                “This is quite true. As you were no doubt warned, the deaths of the operatives you killed will be factored into the price of whatever information you wish to purchase.”

                “I am well aware.”

                “Very well, then. What is it you wish to know?”

                “Do you have information on the Crymorah syndicate?” For a heartbeat, she thought she could see a hint of a bristle in his visceral reaction.

                “Yes. The Black Sun is … aware … of the Crymorah ‘syndicate,’ and their expansion,” he replied, with what sounded like a decidedly disdainful tone at the word ‘syndicate,’ on which he’d placed special emphasis.

                “I require the names of their ruling families and the locations of those families’ estates,” N’Lola replied, and the shrouded figure nodded slowly.

                “There are three ruling families. It will cost seventy-eight thousand credits to transmit the information which you desire, however,” replied the cloaked man.

                “That is acceptable. However, you may want to waive the price in its entirety, due to current circumstances,” she replied. She had a feeling as if he was lifting one eyebrow at her boldness, but if he had any emotional responses, he was offering no indication of it to her.

                “Your words intrigue.”

                “It is no secret that the Crymorah crime families grow more powerful, with each passing day, nor that they’ve been pursuing an aggressive expansion of their power. They may soon challenge the Black Sun for supremacy in the galaxy’s criminal underworld.”

                “This … is a true statement. However, I see no connection between this fact and the reason you suggest that we provide you information at no expense.”

                “If you were to provide the information to me at no cost to me, I will cripple the Crymorah syndicate, at no cost to you, rendering it briefly inert and vulnerable to alternative methods of diminishment.”

                “Hmm… and how would you cripple the Crymorah ‘syndicate,’ precisely, Admiral? As you say, they begin to challenge our superiority in the circles we move in, with thousands of enforcers of their own.”

                “The Crymorah syndicate may have thousands of enforcers, but it still operates on the authority of a handful, on the authority of selected bloodlines,” she replied casually, “I will _end_ , those bloodlines.” The hooded figure blinked in answer to the statement of intent to terminate the leadership of the Crymorah syndicate, and without any transfer of funds needed to occur. Not a single individual, but numerous, a task which would otherwise require a team of assassins and would undoubtedly have a cost well into the range of millions of credits. All she needed was the exact locations.

                “An intriguing offer, and one indeed more than acceptable,” answered the man at last, “Indeed, if you should succeed in such a task, we will provide you a small portion of what such a task would have otherwise cost us.”

                “If you wish to compensate me for the impending destruction of the Crymorah syndicate, do so by releasing from enslavement or indentured servitude, however many slaves could be purchased by the amount of money having them assassinated would cost you. Return those released to their native planets,” she replied, and saw the hooded head jerk back about an inch in immediate answer.

                “You are… easily the most intriguing admiral I have ever met,” replied the hooded and shrouded figure, “Or, for that matter, the most intriguing cooperator, I have ever met. Your price is noted.” She felt as if he was looking at her intently from under his hood, across the vast tract of space to be considered by the long-range holo-communicator. For a moment, she wondered what he might be thinking.

                “The crime families are based on the planet of Harrin in the city of Velton, on the planet Moorja in the city of Avisio, and on the planet Calus in the city of Hyperia,” continued the hooded man, “Their compounds are defended heavily. The ruling families of the Crymorah group are the Gruth family on Harrin, the Trook family on Moorja, and the Vord family on Calus. The Gruth estate is in the centre of Velton and will not be difficult to find, since it is the sole civilian-owned property in such a location, sprawled out over roughly one hundred twenty-five thousand square metres of land. The Trook compound is suburban, on the west outskirts of the city, you will know it by the fortress-like construction, as their home is a stone manse and it is surrounded by a low granite wall. The Vord family’s estate has a low brick wall with wrought iron bars emerging from the top with a stabilizing crossbar, the brick portion is about one metre in height; the metal section is an added two metres tall. Their compound is on the northern outskirts of the city.”

                “Thank you. I will keep this holo-communicator, in the event of some mutually beneficial collaborations in the future,” she replied, then deactivated the device and placed it in one of the drawers in the desk of her ready-room. Then, she moved from her ready-room to the helm.

                “Helm, set a course for the Harrin system at maximum speed,” she instructed, “Aerla, instruct L’Ellu Dondibu to wait for me in the hangar bay, at the Wraith.” As the fleet leapt to hyperspace, Aerla located his comlink, activating it and informing him he had been selected for a mission and instructing him to wait in the ship’s primary hangar bay for the arrival of the admiral, whom he was to accompany. Given the short distance, it took them less than an hour to reach the unconquered planet, located on the Corellian Trade Spine. As the fleet arrived, there was an immediate hail from the planet as her ships assumed a geosynchronous, extra-orbital position over Velton.

                “Admiral, we are receiving a hail from the planet,” Aerla reported, and when N’Lola nodded in response, the Twi’lek immediately patched through the signal to the ship, opening the communications channel. Immediately, the view-screen illuminated and presented the image of a man more than sixty years old, with whitening grey hair of chin-length with light complexion and blue-grey eyes.

                “I am Governor-General Wilhelm Tennison, present lord of Harrin. What brings you to my homeworld?”

                “I am Admiral N’Lola Vurkoth of the Galactic Empire. I have personal business that brings me to the city of Velton, which would be brief; I am taking the opportunity to attend to this private matter while my fleet awaits orders.”

                “I see. So you would be coming down alone, then?”

                “Almost,” she replied, “I would be accompanied by one member of my ship’s security personnel, to ensure the security of my personal shuttle while I am attending to my business.”

                “I see,” repeated the governor-general, “You have permission to enter Harrin’s atmosphere. I hope that your business meeting goes well.” He said, undoubtedly assuming that she was already planning for what to do following her military career, or some such thing. N’Lola was more than happy to allow him to draw whatever conclusions he wanted to about her reason for being on the planet, as long as it allowed her the time needed for her to handle Gruth family and return to her starfighter.

                “Thank you, Governor,” N’Lola replied, to which the elderly man nodded before he closed the channel. She then stood, descending to the hangar bay where her personal shuttle had been prepped for launch: it had been a special order from MandalMotors, built to custom specifications. The vehicle was an Aka’jor class shuttle, modified to serve the purpose of an impressive and intimidating starfighter, equipped with a Class 0.6 Hyperdrive and a backup of Class 0.8 Hyperdrive. Additionally, it had been armed with two Hi-Fex proton torpedo launchers in the nose, one double-barreled Ht-12 heavy laser cannon on either side of the nose, and two KT6 heavy blaster cannons mounted in each of the vehicle’s wings. Just under eighteen metres long from the back of each wing to the front, the central section was a little shorter, though it had two seats in the cockpit and could probably have carried a handful of people behind that. Such individuals would be irrelevant to the ship’s operations, but it could undoubtedly carry six additional people if it absolutely had to do so. For now, she only felt the need to bring one.

                The fighter itself was in landing configuration, the wings held vertical and the broad part of the back of each wing pressed to the hangar floor as part of the landing gear. Standing beneath the shuttle, in the three-metre space that separated the ventral plate from the hangar floor due to the landing gear, was one of her Miraluka assassins. A young, handsome man of a pallid, almond complexion and bright red hair in a silky, shimmery, shoulder-length ponytail, and dressed in the typical uniform of an imperial officer. In accompaniment to this, he wore a piece of custom-made phrik jewelry: almost like a pair of glasses but lacking lenses, it completely covered his vestigial eye sockets, with a notch for his nosebone. At either side, it had a small loop, to which was connected a chain that went around behind the head, latching almost like a necklace, the chain on each side going over his ears before hooking directly under his ponytail. A man of about twenty-eight years, L’Ellu was not much older than she was; he was armed with the same matching pair of heavy blaster pistols and the same medium blaster carbine as N’Lola herself carried.

                “Thank you for selecting me to accompany you, Admiral,” said L’Ellu, with a warm smile in her direction.

                “You are quite welcome, L’Ellu,” she replied, “even if I will only need you to protect the landing pad and ensure the security of the shuttle.”

                “Understood, Admiral,” the Miraluka assassin replied, as the Wraith’s boarding lift lowered out of the aft of the customized shuttle. Quickly N’Lola boarded, with L’Ellu joining her on the lift, and the deck clearing out room to allow for the shuttle’s departure once the boarding lift had been retracted and sealed. Within a few minutes, they were sweeping down into the planetary atmosphere, approaching the terrestrial spaceport in downtown Velton, on the dark side of the planet. It was late in the evening according to local time, but the darkness would work in favour of N’Lola’s needs for this evening, or at least it would not prove to be a hindrance. As they landed, a troupe of ten men approached, waiting to one side of the vehicle as the boarding lift was lowered out of the aft section.

                “Admiral Vurkoth, Governor-General Tennison sent us, we are here to offer our assistance in consideration of your stated security concerns,” said the squad leader. She could sense nothing but truthfulness from him, and with a brief glance toward L’Ellu, he nodded in personal confirmation.

                _~Their words are truthful, Admiral,~_ came the words in her mind as he used the Force to communicate with her in a much more subtle, clandestine manner.

                “Thank you, gentlemen,” she said as she stepped off the boarding lift toward them, while L’Ellu moved off in the opposite direction. He used the Force to make an enhanced leap, leaping high up into the air to land on the small vessel’s dorsal plate, where he pulled his carbine and adopted a readied, alert stance.

                “Whoa,” said the squad leader in reaction, impressed by the demonstration of physical ability, “I wish I could do that.” She could tell his words mirrored the sentiments of several members of his rifle-armed squad, who stared up at the Miraluka, wide-eyed and briefly mesmerized.

                “I will return as soon as my business is concluded,” she replied, then looked up toward L’Ellu, “Please ensure the lieutenant and his men remain alive and well in the event of an attack on the landing pad.”

                “Yes, Admiral,” replied L’Ellu calmly.

                “Lieutenant, this is my first time on Harrin or in Velton in particular. Can you indicate for me which direction is considered to be downtown?” she asked, “I am here to meet someone for a private discussion, and they indicated I should meet them somewhere in downtown Velton.”

                “Ah, yes, of course, Admiral,” replied the squad leader, turning and pointing north, “This spaceport is a few miles south of the city centre.”

                “Thank you, lieutenant,” N’Lola answered, before setting out in that direction and soon disappearing through the spaceport’s north gates on foot. It took little time for her to locate a twenty-four-hour speeder rental, one that was quite agreeable to accepting imperial credits. A moment later, she programmed in the desired location, and then piloted the Balutar-class swoop according to the vehicle’s onboard navigations, quickly sweeping between buildings as she worked her way toward the target destination. Finally, she decelerated the highly compact speeder, which was a mere two and two-thirds metres in length, as she reached the mid-city compound of the Gruth family. It was hard to miss, in light of the four-metre wall of ivory-coloured brick with a polished steel gate in the front that gleamed in the light of the city’s nearby streetlamps. The city was small enough that it lacked for high-rises, and only a few of the buildings nearby would have been tall enough to spy on the goings-on in the compound. It no doubt helped ensure that the Gruth family’s unlawful activities went unnoticed. She parked the Balutar-class swoop in the shadow of an alleyway nearby, looking on the western section of the compound’s brick wall, which was too thin to be used as a rampart. Once parked, she waited for a moment, sensing the movement of a handful of lifeforms, narrowing her eyes as three armed civilians emerged from one of the buildings between which she parked.

                “You’re not from around here,” said their leader, and she lifted her eyebrow in answer, “and everything from the Gruth west wall to about six miles west of the Gruth west wall? That’s our turf.” She examined them for an instant, with not only her eyes but also with the Force, scanning them intensely for several moments, though no weapons had been drawn yet. Her examination yielded an interesting discovery.

                “Listen carefully, Sergeant,” she replied in a conspiratorially low voice, “I am not here for you or your men. You are here to investigate the Gruth family on suspicion of criminal activities, suspicions easily confirmed under the present circumstances. Even so, all four of us here know, in consideration of their tremendous wealth, they would be able to bribe witnesses, intimidate jurors, and afford an entire platoon of the best lawyers on Harrin; you are extremely well aware of the futility of your assignment.” The three men blinked at her in surprise as she went right through their cover-identities and somehow realized that she knew they were undercover detectives, despite the fact she was most decidedly not a local.

                “Wait, what?” said one in response, blinking at her blankly.

                “So what do you propose? All we can do is wait for them to make a blunder in the course of doing something so bad it incites the people to rise above their fear of retaliation.”

                “You’ve been undercover for three years on this operation, and have obtained not even a shred of evidence,” she pointed out, “However, there is an alternative. You are sworn to protect and serve, to ensure the health and safety of the people of Velton.”

                “What do you propose?”

                “The Gruth family is one of the governing families of the Crymorah syndicate. The Crymorah syndicate has recently begun an effort to expand their territory to include the imperial planet of Wroona, to which end they prompted the assassination of several of the Empire’s civilian authorities and high-ranking military officers,” N’Lola replied. In response, the undercover officers blinked and stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief. It was hard to imagine an intentional, concentrated assault had been contracted against not just civilian authorities, but even targeting commanding officers in a military hierarchy.

                “They also seized control of several planetary defense installations on Wroona, forcing the System Admiral’s fleet to destroy those emplacements. This, of course, cannot stand. There must be consequences for such impertinence and such extreme criminal misconduct,” she continued.

                “What are you planning to do?” queried one of the members of the sergeant’s team.

                “Simple. I am planning to kill them all,” she replied, and they stared at her once more in disbelief.

                “Er, by yourself?” asked the sergeant.

                “There is something you can do to assist me.”

                “What do you need us to do?”

                “Stay here, watch my speeder, and don’t die,” she answered the sergeant’s question simply, then turned and looked toward the high brick wall, “And if anyone asks, tell them you saw nothing, heard nothing. Considering their wall, that should not be all that surprising, especially since I am sure you have no surveillance equipment inside of it.”

                “Ah… yeah, okay,” replied the sergeant’s other team-member.

                “Good luck,” said the first member of the sergeant’s team.

                “Somehow, I get the feeling she won’t be needing it,” the sergeant said, as N’Lola lifted one hand and nearby streetlights started to flicker before shattering and plunging an entire section of the street into intense darkness. Then, she broke from a standstill into a sprint, dashing toward the wall before making a Force-enhanced leap that carried her up over the wall, leaving the undercover officers staring in wide-eyed disbelief.

                As she swept up through the air, she saw the revealed terrain of the Gruth family compound, a broad expanse of thick green grass as she came down, to land in a braced crouch. She concentrated on the Force, using it to amplify her senses and heighten her awareness, at which time her eyes acclimated abruptly to the darkness. Then, she saw the Gruth family’s first line of defense: Phlog enforcer thugs, a couple dozen of them patrolling far enough from the wall that they would not be seen, more than eighty percent of the way toward the massive central compound structure. Each Phlog was roughly eleven times her own size or thereabouts, ranging sixty-five to sixty-seven feet in height and with multiple tons of body weight, with hairless sap-green skin and large, pointed ears. Like all Phlogs, they had four-toed feet and hands with four short-clawed fingers that included an opposable thumb, but dissimilar to normal Phlogs, these were clad in steel-studded leather armour. Moreover, each one was wearing a belt, and boots, the leather throughout all of this being of a dark brown colouration, and each was armed with what she could see was quite clearly a massive vibrosword. Unlike the fireworms of Eol Sha, however, Phlogs had no resistance to lightsabers, for which N’Lola was quite thankful as she swept stealthily forward.

                Admittedly, it would have been quite a bit less stealthy if not for the fact that insomuch as that Phlogs were larger than her shuttle, they barely noticed her movement until it was too late. She raced toward them, using the Force to make a powerful leap up into the air as she neared one patrol team, rising powerfully through the darkness, drawing her long-handled lightsaber and activating it. It caused a faint hum to fill the air as she swept through it, a dark glimmer that was almost imperceptible in the gloom of night, until she landed on his shoulder and brought her arm around in a powerful sweep. Even before he could so much as turn his head in reaction, the roughly metre-and-a-half lightsaber blade sheared smoothly through the unarmoured flesh of a neck more than a metre in diameter, itself. The Phlog went slack immediately, his head toppling off his head and slamming into the ground with an audible thunk heavy enough it allowed the other Phlog to hear it. She calmed herself and focused, riding the dead Phlog’s shoulder to the ground, energy gathering in her right arm, and as the Phlog’s form neared the ground, she leapt once more. Verdant lightning crackled out of her gauntlet and struck the second enforcer thug, conducted directly to the vibrosword and immediately sending electricity ripping through the monumental thug’s body, rupturing dozens of blood vessels.

                “… holy frell, it’s a good thing these massive monsters are vulnerable to lightning … what idiot decided they should be armed with vibro-weapons?” she said to herself, as the second Phlog fell to the ground, gasping in pain as he slammed into the earth and ruptured blood vessels caused him to bleed to death in seconds, his size notwithstanding. The sound of two bodies of such size striking the dirt and grass, however, had the unfortunate effect of resulting in a surge in attention: there would be no further element of surprise, no additional subtleties. The lights of the compound still a kilometer away were coming on, and the remaining Phlogs had turned and were now sprinting toward the place where their fallen brethren now lay as mountainous corpses. As they approached, N’Lola brought her gauntleted right hand about once more, lightning arcing out with a flare of luminescent green that crackled, chaining across several of the vibroswords with fatal effect. Even rupturing just the blood vessels in their arms all the way up to the shoulder, it quickly discoloured the skin with internal bleeding into the body cavity. Their blood vessels were so massive and so numerous, to be able to keep their bodies functioning and ambulatory, that internal bleeding was one of their biggest vulnerabilities as a species.

                As she leapt out of the path of one blade and then another, the massive Phlogs swarming her, lightning flared from her gauntlet-clad right hand. Despite their size, every shock of lightning killed several with a flare of green, and she was thankful that this was not an area where she had to be concerned with Sith or Dark Jedi roaming around. She needed all her focus simply to avoid the cleaving chops of massive, vibration-humming blades, and sustaining serenity long enough to strike them all. Finally, nearly four minutes after they had charged her, the whole count of them were dead, their bodies scattered about in the grass like mountains of flesh and bone multiple times the size of an elephant. Her breath had quickened, and she took a moment to focus on replenishing her serenity, drawing her carbine with her right hand and activating it while keeping her lightsaber out. Forty humans were approaching, racing toward her with pistols in their hands. As they neared, she turned her body to minimize the cross-section available for them to fire at, complicating the fact that they were still out of range as they entered hers. Then, the air filled with a raucous thumping sound with every shot, concentrated blaster-bolts ripping across the distance as soon as they came within the roughly six hundred seventy-foot reach of her carbine.

                Even as they approached, brilliant blue blaster-bolts swept across and delivered a fatal impact to one after another. Every ten metres, another man was flung backward as a bolt slammed into him, cutting their numbers from forty to twenty-two even before they were able to get near enough to fire at her. Once they neared enough to fire at a proximity where they could rely on their aim, she turned her body to a different position, bringing her lightsaber about to deflect shots back in their direction while continuing to fire at those who remained. In mere moments, all forty were dead, though her carbine was down to seventy-one shots remaining, as she checked the illuminated indicator on one side, directly above her grip. Once more, she paused and tapped into the Force, this time using Force Healing to restore her energy, and then burst into a smooth, loping run as she approached the compound.

                The main compound was a massive stone structure, one forty metres in height, though she noticed there were people walking on the rim of the wall with rifles. As she came into the range of her carbine, she aimed and fired with another voluminous thump filling the air, and as one man was flung backward, twenty-four more approached, though she continued to fire. Each shot turned a man into a corpse, and flung that corpse backward with the force of impact, even at a range of nearly six hundred and seventy feet. As they began to fire at her, she deactivated and holstered her long-handled lightsaber and twisted out of the way of some shots, while using Tutaminis to catch other shots with her hand, transforming their energies into a replenishment of her force. Even as she did this, she continued to fire with the blaster carbine, until none remained who dared stand on the wall regardless of whatever their masters might have said to them on the topic. Then, she approached the citadel-like manse until she stood before the massive double-doors at the front, and when they did not open, she holstered her carbine and took a step back. As she lifted her right hand, her hair started to flutter, and the heavy metal doors began to shudder and clank against one another noisily. Then, the air filled with a series of loud metallic snaps, as she separated each door from the bindings that connected it, before finally flinging both doors inward.

                As the doors landed with a loud clap of metal upon polished marble flooring, sliding with a grinding, scraping sound, she walked in, drawing her tonfa lightsabers and activating them as she did. The entry room of the Gruth manse was a single monumental chamber with two balconies overlooking it, and stairs coming down from those balconies to connect all three floors, with a ceiling thirty-five metres high. As a man came to stand on the highest balcony to gaze down on her at a steep angle, she noticed his smirk and the casual motion of his hand, and heard a series of metallic clicks and clacks as if of some tremendous mechanism activating. She noticed a gargantuan door on either side of the room and set back near the corner, felt the presence of lifeforms of a scale even greater than the Phlogs. The scent of fur filled her nostrils, guttural growling and snarling filled her ears, as each door was slowly being brought downward, lowered into the floor to release the inhabitant behind.

                “You know, the Gorax is a fascinating creature,” said the man in a condescending tone, as two monumental beasts with thick, long fur of a sort of medium taupe colour lumbered out of their containment. Vaguely humanoid in shape they had four-fingered hands having opposable thumbs, faces somewhere midway between a human and a lower primate’s, massive pointed ears and their longest hair being on the head around hairless faces. Like the Phlogs, these Gorax were dressed oddly, insomuch as that they were dressed at all, clothed in a pair of monumental leather breeches of knee-length, which did little to conceal the fact their endowment was several times larger than a full-grown man.

                As she stood before doors too small to have possibly granted entrance to the creatures, she realized they must have been brought in through some other means. For a moment, the massive creatures simply looked at her, though it clearly started to anger them that they were being watched by a few dozen men. The fact the small, black-clad, grey-white creature had remained unmoving was perhaps either angering them or confusing them, as she gripped the cross-handle of each weapon. N’Lola, on the other hand, was not idle, as she might have first seemed, instead using the brief trance of serenity to prepare herself to battle two creatures of such size and power.

                “You may want to consider retreating, now,” warned the man on the third balcony.

                “I will be with you shortly,” replied N’Lola, feigning a sort of snide confidence as she considered what would be the most effective way to kill these massive creatures. Killing them would deliver suitable intimidation to all those she had come to kill, both bosses and enforcers, and put them more fully on the defensive than she had by killing two dozen Phlogs and sixty-five men, already. Finally, one of the Gorax lurched at her hungrily, thumping across the floor as he moved toward her, ears twitching alertly as he swung inward and one hand swept out at her in a powerful attempt to seize. Far quicker than she had anticipated for the size, she rolled out of the path of the grabbing motion, then came out of the roll with a leaping slash of both shimmering, charcoal-grey blades, cutting two twenty-inch-deep incisions across one Gorax’s lower left calf. As he roared in pain, rearing upward, the other surged in and lurched forward, and brought one arm sweeping in between the other Gorax’s feet to reach for her. Knocked off balance by the cut across the left leg, the first stumbled backward and hit the wall, though the wall was built so reinforced that the entire building shook, but his monumental weight did not break through the wall.

                As the second one reached for her, she leapt and twisted through the air, coming down on his arm above the wrist, bringing both blades down to chop into it. The monstrous male roared in pain as his body jerked upright, back straightening in pain as she leapt a second time, this time coming up toward his arm where she brought her blades into the muscle just below the shoulder. Once more, her blades left two deep gouges that further ruined and disabled that arm, rendering it irreparably wounded. Even as the great creature roared and straightened, she leapt once more, as the first regained his balance and lunged toward the other from the wall, arm snapping out to snatch at her, unsuccessfully. She used the Force to throw herself sideward until she landed in a braced crouch on the wall, sliding downward from the pull of gravity, before leaping from the wall in a powerful upward arc. N’Lola knew she needed to deliver greater damage, still, more than a couple incisions on one calf, and four incisions on the other’s arm, wouldn’t be enough for her to kill them.

                As she swept through the air, she twisted out of the path of another slicing attempt, until she landed upon the left shoulder of the one whose calf she had cut. She spun quickly around on his shoulder, slicing an eighteen-inch gash into his neck in two places, and the monumental Gorax roared his anguish as the Gruth family’s enforcers stared wide-eyed in disbelief. The massive beast teetered for a moment, swaying in the air as he attempted to maintain his balance and survive the attack. N’Lola used the opportunity this represented to leap upwards once more, landing on the top of the monumental male’s head. As she landed, she dropped into a braced crouch that brought her lightsabers into the skull with such strength they punctured through twelve inches of bone plating. The male’s form went instantaneously slack, wobbling violently before beginning to plunge toward the ground, giving N’Lola the needed opportunity to leap across at the other male. Still suffering the brief debilitation of the deafening wail of the other Gorax as she clove into his neck and then impaled his skull, the second Gorax’s reaction time was hampered greatly during the key moment of her approach. She swept past, slashing his throat eighteen inches deep across one side, before tapping into the Force to curve her path in the air around his neck, until she landed on his opposite shoulder.

                As she pulled her lightsaber out of his neck, she left an eighteen-inch-deep cut incised into three quarters of his neck, including the back, severing the spinal column. As the first had, he fell to the ground dead, and she leapt to somersault gracefully to the ground, whirling to face the dumbfounded enforcers and stunned bosses. The force of his impact shook the earth, rocked dust loose from the stone blocks, and left more than four dozen staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief as she cut through two of the largest and strongest enforcers the Gruth family had been able to acquire.

                “Who are you?” asked the elderly patriarch of the Gruth family, six foot tall and seventy years old, built thin.

                “I am Admiral Ricona of the imperial navy,” she replied, and he stared in disbelief, having never imagined a member of the imperial navy could have been so dangerous. He immediately fled into the interior of the third floor of the building, as N’Lola switched from her tonfa lightsabers to the heavy blaster pistols. Even as he fled, N’Lola began firing brilliant blue blaster-bolts that whipped across the great entrance-room to kill their target and fling each man they hit six feet backward, lying his corpse out flat. As she fired, she burst into motion once more, moving out of the path of blaster-bolts fired from the second and third balconies. Focus brought the ability of Tutaminis forward again, as men in the first great hall fired at her, and she used the Force to absorb some of the bolts with the back of her hand as she spun out of the path of others. Ahead of her, the twenty men in the hall fell in a rapid succession as she drained part of the power cell in her heavy blaster pistols into them. She used the Force to fling fancy mahogany doors cleanly off their hinges to reveal the rooms beyond, occasionally discovering enforcers whom she promptly executed in the course of her self-appointed mission.

                Even before she reached the second floor, her pistols were down to under half of their maximum capacity, before reaching the second floor landing. At once, there was the sound of blaster-fire, a near miss whipping past her face as she dropped to a one-knee crouch and fired, killing several more who had almost gotten the drop on her even as they attempted to modify their aim. As she rose, she checked the power cells with a quick glance, the indicator on the underside indicating twelve shots remained in one, and ten in the other. She moved through the second floor, soon switching from her pistols to the carbine, dodging behind a wall as she reached a junction of hallways and several men fired at her. For a moment, she paused and took a deep breath, centering her focus before rolling out from behind that wall, clenching the fingers of her right hand and activating the kyber crystal in her gauntlet. Then, she pivoted out from behind the wall, bringing her right arm around to block blaster-bolts, causing a sudden pause in their firing as a bolt hit her unarmoured upper arm and vanished in a sparkling flare of bluish-white. Even as they froze, a sequence of loud thumping sounds echoed down the hall as bright blue blaster-bolts swept down the hall, killing the six men on the second floor who had been firing at her. The sound of blaster pistols mingled with the sporadic, energized thump of her 9118 carbine, as she carved a path to the third floor and left a trail of corpses behind her.

                Finally, as she reached the second floor balcony, she crept up the stairs to the third, rising enough to fire and shooting two more men before they realized she was there. Each man’s eyes widened as a four-inch hole bored through his chest from right to left, before falling dead with the fact that most of each man’s heart had been vapourized by the carbine’s powerful shot at comparatively close range. She then leapt up into the balcony area, firing down the hallway as she did, and striking another four men as she passed the hallway across the cross junction, using the Force to aim. When she landed, N’Lola pivoted around to put her back against the wall on the other side of the third floor’s one and only hallway, flanked with bedchambers. She could sense the presence of twelve men in the hallway, one man in each of three bedrooms and a woman in a fourth bedroom, and as she checked her carbine, she sighed faintly. There were only ten shots remaining in the carbine, which meant she was going to need to switch to lightsaber before she ran out of enemies, though she was relatively unconcerned by that.

                She took another deep breath to concentrate, another moment of pause as she used the battle-trance to refocus and to replenish her inner calm. Then, using the Force to aim, she pivoted out from behind the wall, firing twice before blocking blaster bolts with her gauntlet and firing twice more, dropping their number from twelve to eight. She leapt forward, twisting in the air as they fired, landing in a rolling movement and coming up firing at her enemies again, to cut their number down even further, until there were only two remaining in the hall. As she rose, one hand holstered the carbine while the other drew her long-handled lightsaber and activated it, soon spinning to hold it in both hands at opposite ends of the handgrip.

                “What are you?” asked the two men who remained in the massive hall that had doors to a quartet of massive, exorbitantly extravagant bedchambers.

                “I am a Dark Jedi trained by the Sith,” she replied, “Your masters were foolish to challenge the rule of law.” Then, she leapt, catching them unaware with the suddenness of it as she passed between them, landing in a wheeling cleave that sheared through both men just above the waist with fatal impact.

                Here, she paused, and regarded the profligate ornateness of the hall, which was a hundred metres long, ten metres wide, with a high ceiling. Bodies of their enforcers littered the entire compound in dozens of rooms, shot dead or cut down, but one way or the other, there were none to stand between her and the crime bosses themselves, anymore.

                “Hiding in your rooms? I can feel your fear, I can taste your terror. Is your bravado so easily broken, is your courage so easily crippled?” as she challenged them, she deactivated and holstered her long-handled lightsaber, now switching back to the tonfa lightsaber as she sensed the youngest two of three males approaching their bedroom doors.

                “You will not insult our father like that!” declared one, as the doors opened almost in unison, and each one emerged wielding a phrik-forged, single-edged sword with a thirty-six-inch blade. They paused, however, as they took note of the carnage that trailed behind her, for perhaps they had never seen so much death so close to them.

                “I need not insult your father. Your father insults himself. What kind of man hides behind his children?”

                “One who raised us to love and admire him, and all that he has achieved,” replied one of the sons confidently.

                “No, that is the answer to the question of what kind of man has children who would give their lives to defend him. The question I asked was what kind of man hides from death behind his children?” she said, infuriating both of the young men, “The answer to that question, is a spineless coward. He may be an excellent father, but he is not much of a man. You are better and braver men.” As she spoke, she examined each man, and was thankful that both of them were clearly older than she was, which allowed her to feel no great sorrow for the fact that she had come to kill them: there were no children here. One was twenty-nine, with shoulder-length hair of zinnwaldite brown and matching eyes, a light complexion with an excellent tan, clothed in the fanciness of black silk and matching lambskin. He wore ankle-length pants and a three-quarter-sleeved shirt that wouldn’t impede his swordfighting, a belt of black lambskin and combat-intended shoes of the same with black rubber soles rounded out his ensemble. The other was dressed similarly, with a similar tan, though his hair was a dusty brown colour with fallow brown irises, and appeared to be thirty-one. Each one was the same height, roughly six feet tall and two hundred ten pounds, though she was hardly concerned by either of those traits.

                As they moved in to attack, she blocked one phrik blade with her tonfa, rolling out of the path of the other’s slash and forcing him to jerk back to avoid cutting his brother. She spun on one foot while the other lifted, coming to slam into the small of the back of the one whose blade she had blocked, throwing him forward to land face down near the corpses of the last two enforcers. Meanwhile, she whirled on his brother, catching his incoming chop with an X formed by both tonfa, before her foot rose again and slammed into his chin. His entire body lifted off the ground and into the air as her heel slammed into his chin, before he fell flat on his back with a grunt of pain and a brief moment of stillness. She turned as the younger brother rushed her, recovered from the kick, though she batted his blade away with one tonfa before whirling her other tonfa and slamming it into the back of his head with a loud metallic cracking sound. Even as one brother recovered, she flung the other face down on the hallway floor for the second time, whirling to meet the other’s downward, right-to-left slash.

                This time, as she blocked with one tonfa, she spun the other one in her hand and brought it up in a powerful uppercut thrust, the blade passing through the underside of his chin. It pierced through his mouth and then his brain, before protruding through the top of his head, eyes widening in the disbelieving stare of the dead, before she withdrew the blade. As his corpse stood wobbling, she brought her foot up again, kicking in the sternum and causing the corpse to land directly beside his brother. He yelled and rolled, then jumped to his feet and leapt toward her in a rage, though it was clear he had never learned to fight while angry. She parried his assault easily, before thrusting her blade again, this time puncturing through the nose and out the back of the head with the same lethality.

                “Who’s next?” she asked loudly, as she proceeded down the hall, and another door opened with a shrieking of mindless, grieving fury. The man’s daughter emerged from her room, wielding a double-edged blade that was also forged out of phrik alloy, which N’Lola blocked with an X-cross of her tonfa when the twenty-four-year-old attempted to chop her in half. Driven mad by wroth and woe, she was easy to read, and for more than a minute, N’Lola allowed her father to hear the sound of his daughter battling to protect him and avenge her brothers. Then, she twisted out of the path of yet another cleaving movement, bringing both tonfa blades around and shearing a wide, shallow X through the daughter’s form from behind, splitting her body into four sections, two of them wedges. As her upper body thunked into the floor and her lower section dropped first onto the knees and then fell completely, the wedges of either side of her lower torso hit the ground with a much softer sound for their lack of weight. Then, she turned to the last door, and deactivated her tonfa lightsabers, drawing and activating the long-handled lightsaber before using the Force to throw the door from its hinges as she stepped in.

                “Are you ready to meet your end, now?” she asked, taking the moment’s pause to centre once more, purging the emotions that sought to infect her inner calm. She forced herself to expel the disgust she felt at a man being willing to let his children fight and die in an attempt to protect him, renewing in herself the serene focus she most relied upon.

                “I never realized the power of the Empire was so great. You killed two hundred and thirty-three people to get to my children and I; a relentless and inexorable engine of destruction,” he said in answer, perhaps as much to himself as to her, “I underestimated the brutality and the might of the Empire, if even one single admiral is this powerful, there is nothing anyone can do to oppose it.”

                “It is not that you challenged the Empire, or the Republic that preceded it, or the Republic that will follow it if the civil war that rages outside this planet is won by the rebels. None of this,” she replied, approaching him cautiously slowly, “would have happened, if the syndicate on whose ruling council you sit had not attempted to seize control of an entire planet for itself. I wish that I could say your error was in choosing a life of crime, but that would be untruthful; your error was in attempting to commandeer planetary defense installations and assassinating politicians and military officers.”

                “I understand,” he said, following a moment’s consideration, “Do you plan to deliver your fury on the Trook family, and the Vord family, as well?”

                “Yes,” she answered, “I do.”

                “Then I can accept my fate, and die in peace,” he replied, turning toward her as she closed to a distance of a scant ten feet, to reveal that he held a sword of his own, “I have not used this in many years. I will try to provide you a battle worthy of those who gave their lives in a valiant attempt to protect an old fool, but I would like to make one final request of you.”

                “And that would be what?”

                “When you write your report, please let history remember not my own cowardice this night. Let it only recall the bravery of those who tried to protect me.”

                “This promise I can make to you,” she said with a nod and a deep breath of self-resolution. Then, the elderly boss of the Gruth family drew his phrik-forged, single-edged blade, with a ten-inch handle and a fifty-seven-inch blade with a noticeable curvature to it. He half-turned, lying the scabbard on the top surface of the dresser behind him, then turned back to face her fully once more, grasping the blade in both hands. She grasped the handgrip of her lightsaber in both hands, though she had them at opposite ends for superior support and balance, and he nodded. Then, he lunged, bringing his blade in a sweeping slash that whirred softly through the air, ending in the loud hum of collision with her lightsaber, though the phrik blade was not hewn by the impact. Phrik was one of the few alloys that could go head to head with the sheer power of a lightsaber, though he twisted immediately and brought his blade around for another slash in her direction, ending in another loud hum. He pressed close to her, stepping forward with an overhand chop, which she blocked with the horizontal barrier of her lightsaber’s blade, and another loud hum.

                She nodded, then thrust to knock his blade up before going on the attack, though for his age he was a skilled enough warrior to block twice in a row and in rapid succession. Then, he brought the blade of his sword down in another chop, this one ending with a loud metallic clang as it struck between her hands, hitting the grip of her lightsaber directly. His eyes widened a bit in surprise, discovering that the handle of her weapon was a poorer target than he had hoped, before she twisted both of her hands. Her lightsaber blade hummed first through air and then threw flesh, when it sheared through his throat and severed his head from the rest of his body, allowing his entire frame to go limp with death, before falling to the ground with two heavy thumping sounds. The task completed, she deactivated the blade of it before turning and walking out of the manse, retracing her steps by the trail of bodies until she finally reached the same section of wall where no lights shone, and leapt over it.

                “Our lady returns,” said the sergeant as she slipped into the alleyway, “I told you she wouldn’t need luck.”

                “The Gruth family will not trouble Harrin again. I warn you, they had some impressive enforcers… of whom, none happened to survive,” she replied, as she mounted the Balutar-class speeder.

                “Somehow, I had a feeling that would be the case,” the sergeant replied, “Thank you. Now we can be assigned to investigations that have an actual chance of successful prosecution someday. I must warn you, though, we heard on our scanners that there was a confrontation at the landing pad, which I assume is where your ship is.” He sounded as if he was impressed by what he heard, which indicated to her thinking that L’Ellu had performed extraordinarily well, himself, when Gruth enforcers had attacked the starport. She bade them farewell, and then immediately set her course for the starport.

                On her return, she discovered there had indeed been a considerable attack by enforcers from the Gruth crime family, with more than two hundred bodies were scattered around the landing pad as she approached on foot. As she approached, she noticed that the ten soldiers had survived, unharmed if not unscathed: each man’s uniform bore tears where blaster-bolts had made a nonfatal hit, but none seemed wounded.

                “My lady, your bodyguard is … both frightening and comforting, in equal measure. He never missed a shot, my men and I killed… less than half,” the squad-leader reported, “although, we also took injuries. Your man, though, seemed all but impossible to hit or even come close to, he started firing before we even knew we were under attack… and then when the last man fell, he came to us, and healed our wounds.”

                “You and your men were instrumental, Lieutenant,” L’Ellu said in response, gracious but also truthful, “Only ten of you, and you killed more than seventy enforcers.”

                “Thank you for saying so,” the lieutenant replied, “and thank you for protecting us in addition to protecting the admiral’s shuttle.” L’Ellu smiled warmly and nodded.

                “It was my honour to be tasked with ensuring the survival of allies with higher priority than killing enemies,” L’Ellu replied, “Too often, a soldier’s job is to kill, not to save.” In answer to that truth, the lieutenant and his men all nodded their agreement.

                “Too true, indeed,” the lieutenant replied, “Fly well, admiral. I have some inkling of what your mission here was, and I think that Harrin shall remember you fondly for it.” N’Lola nodded with a warm smile in reply, then boarded the Wraith with her assassin standing beside her, moving to the cockpit immediately once the aft panels sealed beneath the boarding lift.

                “Excellently done, L’Ellu,” she said, as she powered on the ship and activated the engines, rotating the wings into flight position.

                “Thank you, Admiral,” the Miraluka assassin replied, as they soared up out of the atmosphere of the planet and the sound of a soft chime broke the ensuing silence. N’Lola tapped a button or two, bringing up the image of the planet’s governor-general less than a minute after they crossed out of the atmosphere and back into the stellar vacuum.

                “Admiral, I have a feeling that your business in Harrin was quite a bit more hostile than you initially led me to believe,” said Governor-General Tennison, “I do not like to be uninformed of such things, Admiral.”

                “I did what had to be done. You were told only what you needed to know, and nothing that would become a liability for you in Harrin’s next election,” she replied, and he blinked in surprise at her response.

                “Excuse me?”

                “I came to eliminate the Gruth crime family. If I had told you that, you would have been legally obligated to make a series of responses to protect of a criminal family you have no desire to protect. Responses that would include ordering me not to enter Harrin’s atmosphere, which I would have had to disregard, then having to scramble your fighters in an attempt to insist on escorting me out of the atmosphere. This would have been followed by sending some of your infantry to attempt to detain me on the ground when I landed at the starport. Since you are legally required to protect any permanent resident of your planet, you would have then been required to deploy soldiers to the compound of the Gruth family in an attempt to protect them despite their ties to organized crime. All of this would have cost you pilots and infantrymen whom I assume you would much prefer not to lose in an attempt to protect one of the leading families of the Crymorah syndicate,” N’Lola replied at length. The Governor-General blinked as she laid it all out for him in a format that would make it as easily understood as possible.

                “Failure to take all of these steps, or even any one of these steps, would have resulted in severe complications for your attempt to secure reelection in the next cycle. In this way, you have plausible deniability to having known in advance the reason for my visit to your rather lovely planet, and no obligation to take any legal action against me. I’m an imperial admiral and I am now outside your jurisdiction: no one can ask or expect you to take any action whatsoever, as to do so might provoke a much larger conflict with the Galactic Empire, who has thus far left you in peace because your planet is inhabited almost exclusively by humans. No one would want Harrin to draw the ire of the Empire, since even with a galaxy-wide civil war raging between the Galactic Empire and the Republic Remnant, neither you nor I nor any on your planet would want Harrin drawn into the middle of that conflict.”

                “I see,” the Governor-General said in answer to her lengthy but excellent explanation, “Though, how would I then ensure that future Governors-General do not attempt to have you apprehended?”

                “Simply wait a year or two, letting people have time to recognize the benefit that Harrin experiences with the absence of the Gruth crime family operating off the planet. Then, author a document granting clemency to a few dozen offenders who violated planetary law in some manner not expressly destructive to Harrin’s economy, commuting the death sentences of a couple dozen inmates down to lifetime imprisonment, and commuting the sentences of a couple hundred nonviolent offenders with exorbitantly long prison terms down to time served. Slip my name in amongst that first group, and your problem is solved and praised as a demonstration of your planet’s merciful legal system.”

                “Your cleverness is far greater than I had ever imagined an Admiral of the Galactic Empire would possess,” the Governor-General replied, “Thank you, Admiral, and may you always have safe travels.” Moments later, N’Lola piloted her Aka’jor up into the hangar bay of the Vindicator, disembarked, and ordered the fleet to proceed at once to the Moorja system.

                The incident in the Moorja system went much like that in the Harrin system, and when she reached the Calus system, the chain of events was nearly identical. Finally, the fleet was able to set their course to return to Wroona, and N’Lola returned to her ready-room for the duration of the trip. As she sat, she heard a familiar sound from one drawer, opening it and pulling out the holo-communicator, placing it on the desk before tapping the activation button on the device’s touchscreen. Immediately, the hooded form of the Black Sun representative appeared.

                “We have already received word of your success through our network. I must confess that I am impressed, I had expected we would not hear from you again,” he said, “However, we are maintaining our end of the arrangement. The value of the assassination of the number of targets that our operatives inform us you have eliminated is placed at a number equivalent to the sales value of ten thousand slaves. Ten thousand individuals have been chosen nearly at random throughout our network, with family members being chosen with priority, followed by a sort of lottery for the others. They have been loaded onto starships and are already being ferried back to their homeworlds; our business is concluded. We will be in contact if there is some collaboration we might wish to request of you for which we would be willing to offer any manner of remuneration.” The image immediately vanished as he terminated the channel, and she smirked faintly as she placed the holo-communicator back into the drawer and shut it.

                A short while later, the fleet swept back into the Wroona system, a few minutes after N’Lola returned to the bridge and her admiral’s chair. As she noticed the massive amount of debris in the system, far enough from Wroona it would not fall on the planet, the young admiral blinked a little bit in surprise as she surveyed the other imperial fleet. It had diminished dramatically, from twenty-four warships to ten: the three surviving star destroyers and six surviving star battlecruisers were all critically damaged, with two Gladiators and a Procurator being crippled utterly. Meanwhile, the Admiral’s star dreadnought had taken such severe damage that it was frankly surprising the ship was in one piece and had not blown up. It was had no more likelihood of moving again than the most-damaged Procurator, but despite the fact the ship was in tatters, a chime indicated a hail incoming.

                “Admiral, receiving a hail from Admiral Tandres aboard the Devastator,” Aerla said, before commenting just under her breath that it looked like the Devastator had been devastated.

                “On-screen,” she replied, and the bridge of the Devastator came up on-screen, showing that the bridge was nearly obliterated in the midst of the fighting. The Admiral himself had a gash on his upper left arm, singe-marks on his face and uniform, a broad and shredded opening on his shirt with a faintly blooded bandaging wrapped around his lower torso visible through the gaping hole. He’d taken considerable injuries himself, and his features showed that he was traumatized by the entire experience, having perhaps never realized how real war was, and having just gotten his first unpleasant taste of combat.

                “Admiral, I must confess that I am thankful to see you. Does this mean that Crymorah has been crippled?”

                “For now, Admiral,” she replied, “I am glad that I was able to crush the syndicate before their wrath could completely overwhelm your fleet.”

                “So many ships have been lost, I never knew that war would be such hell, Admiral,” replied Garamond, and then turned his head as one of his bridge crew reported further on the situation.

                “Admiral, final tally on the death toll has been reached; there are approximately four hundred and fifty-two thousand dead.” Out of what had initially been nearly half a million imperial soldiers, having the survivors numbering somewhere around seventeen thousand was a devastating loss. N’Lola almost felt sorry for the blanching admiral, but she knew that he would never have a fleet again and would never have to run the risk of having to experience this kind of trauma at any point in the future. She had no doubt he would be mandatorily retired to the position of retired admiral, but his family was one of wealthy, influential, hardline loyalists whose loyalty would change swiftly if a member of their family, magnitude of failure notwithstanding, were executed or simply disappeared.

                “I will summon Wroonian engineering crews for you, Admiral Tandres,” N’Lola said, nodding to Aerla for her to do so, “we will remain here for a few days until your ships are repaired and your survivors have received proper medical attention.”

                “Thank you, Admiral Vurkoth. My family will speak well of you, you have my word, for assisting my fleet and crippling the Crymorah syndicate.” N’Lola nodded to that before terminating the communications channel, so the admiral could get to some bacta himself, and heal for his journey home. Several days later, N’Lola and her fleet then continued their ordered patrol; she was unsurprised when she received no commendations for her efforts, but equally surprised when a Tandres family transport caught up to them with a gratuity of one million credits.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ongoing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                Near the end of the fourth month of the first full year to follow the horror of Alderaan and the battle of Yavin, N’Lola’s fleet received a new set of emergency orders as they reached the imperial world of Reecee. As Aerla informed her of the incoming transmission of a document containing orders from imperial naval command, N’Lola retired from the bridge to her ready-room while Aerla patched it through. Once there, she sat down and tapped the touchscreen, to activate the holo-emitter for the communique.

 

                _Admiral Vurkoth,_

_We have recently lost contact with Admiral Dellus Tavares, during routine transit between two known worlds._

_His last known coordinates placed him in orbit of the planet Reecee, where your patrol fleet has just arrived._

_His last known destination was the Selvaris star system, at which he should have arrived no later than 0300 hours on the 13 th day of this month. It is now the 33rd day of the month, and his fleet is nowhere to be found._

_You are instructed to search throughout the Inner Rim for Admiral Tavares, other patrol fleets have already been dispatched in the Expansion Region, Mid Rim, and Outer Rim. If Admiral Tavares is in the Inner Rim, you are to discover what caused the disappearance of his fleet and, if possible, recover the admiral, retrieve his fleet, and return to Reecee._

_Imperial Naval Command_

_Confirmation Code: 0339-4482-175R_

 

                “Lovely, some bureaucratically appointed idiot gets a fleet, and I’m to go look for him,” she said to herself, rising out of her seat, “At least I’m not the only admiral assigned to this goose-chasing expedition, and better still, I’ll not have to see my fellow goose-chasers. He probably took a detour to see some paramour he doesn’t want his family knowing about.” Either way, she returned to the bridge and retook her seat, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on one of the seat’s inherent armrests.

                “Helm, set a course for the Selvaris system, imperial command wishes us to participate in a rather spectacular waste of time chasing wild space-geese,” she said, rolling her eyes faintly, though the fleet nevertheless went promptly into hyperspace anyway. On their arrival in the Selvaris system, they hailed the planet and following a brief description of who they were looking for, learned he had never arrived and they had had no idea an imperial fleet meant to come to their system. From their position in the Selvaris system, the fleet’s long-range scanners could detect neither imperial starship nor even inhabited world anywhere in the immediate vicinity of the planet, not for at least another thousand light years at least.

                “Welcome to the first galactic goose hunt,” she said to herself with a soft sigh and a shake of her head, though in truth she was beginning to observe the many opportunities represented. Wandering around in a portion of the Inner Rim, which was also considered part of the Unknown Regions, with the ability to make a legitimate claim of imperial orders bringing them here despite no imperial worlds in the vicinity? There was something to be said for that, certainly, and she decided to take her time on the grounds of making a much more methodical search.

                “Helm, plot a winding course through this sector of the inner rim, and record the stellar cartography onto an external databank. We will do an extensive search of this region to determine the location of the missing admiral and his fleet,” she said, and her Bpfassh helmsman nodded immediately in answer.

                “Run a continuous scan with long-range sensors; document on the external databank every star system having lifeforms either in or on the surface,” she instructed, which likewise received a nod of subordination from the bridge crewmen responsible for navigations and long-range sensors.

                Since she suspected it would be a while before she would be needed for anything, she rose from her seat and turned, departing the bridge to the fourteenth deck of the Vindicator, where the ship’s training hall was located. She took a quick shower before she proceeded to the training hall, wherein she crossed through the room to enter a large changing room where she could undress and switch into training clothes, accessible by a relatively narrow, open doorway. Once she had stripped off her dark-coloured clothes down to purely lingerie, she dressed herself in the thick, white wool of the training clothes, which consisted of two articles of clothing. The first was a pair of pants that went to her lower calves but not quite to her ankles, which buttoned on each side at the hip, accompanied by a half-sleeved shirt with a shallow V-neck, pulled on over the top of the head. On her emergence from the room, she laid both guns and lightsabers on a table near the corner of the room, far from either door, before picking up a long-handled training saber as she felt two familiar Force-energies approaching.

                “What were you planning to practice, today, N’Lola?” queried Nuav as he and his twin moved to a table and laid their own weapons down, though they had not yet changed into training garments.

                “I was strongly considering practicing my Ataru form, as it is the earliest form I have yet to master entirely,” N’Lola replied, looking over her shoulder toward her mentors.

                “That is an excellent choice, particularly since you have also mastered both Shien and Niman,” replied Nuav.

                “Indeed, other than the seventh form, Ataru is the only one you have not mastered,” observed Xuax, quietly. In answer, N’Lola nodded, and waited as the twins went to the changing room, returning a few minutes later wearing training garments that matched her own.

                “I have no intention nor desire to learn the Seventh Form, only to learn how to counter it. It crosses perilously near to the dark side, and that is a seduction I will not risk; serenity and focus have been my greatest allies,” she said, as they returned. In answer, both of her mentors nodded their understanding and acceptance of N’Lola’s perspective.

                “Ataru is the most acrobatic of the seven forms practiced by both the Sith and the Jedi,” Nuav said, “This is also called the aggression form, because it is a style that will force an adversary into a defensive posture in most melee battles. However, Ataru is also an excellent defensive discipline, because it places an emphasis upon the enhancement of the practitioner’s physical abilities through the continuous channeling of the Force, and acrobatics that may be used just as easily to evade as it can to attack.”

                “Let us today focus upon your acrobatic talents. You have already proven to be a master of making sweeping, forward gliding appear as effortless as breath; let us turn our concentration now to other leaping movements, instead,” continued Xuax where his twin had begun, and N’Lola nodded in answer.

                “We will attack, and you will defend: do not block or dodge, only evade. Express an economy of your muscle movements through a maximization of the Force you channel,” said Nuav, as he selected a long-bladed training saber for himself, before tossing a second to his twin.

                “I understand,” she replied, making a sweeping motion with her weapon so that others who were practicing in the hall before abandoning it to observe, would move back and ensure they were not obstacles, unintentionally, in the path of training. N’Lola took a position standing with the long-handled lightsaber behind her at a left to right angle, her hand near the top of the handle with the rest of it pointing at the ground, the five-foot training blade directly behind. In the current position it rose considerably above the right shoulder, a weapon clearly better suited to Ataru than to a form with the defensive orientation of the third form, Soresu.

                Sensing her readiness to begin her training, Nuav nodded, and then leapt forward, making a wide, sweeping strike toward the midsection which was, itself, utterly characteristic of the fourth form. She leapt backward, the long strands of pure black hair fluttering ahead of her as she swept a full four feet backward from the attempted torso-strike, and the Epicanthix assassin nodded.

                “Good, but you can go further than that,” Xuax observed, standing to one side, allowing Nuav to begin in the session, where he would conclude this time, and begin the next time. Nuav then leapt forward a second time, making another wide, horizontal slash, this time toward the bottom of her ribcage. N’Lola focused and leapt backward, slipping seven feet backward through the air this time, and channeling her concentration into the task of making leaps as long as possible each time she had to move backward. As Nuav lunged and sliced a second time, she leapt back for a third time, N’Lola channeled more of her Force than ever before into her leaping movement, and swept back twenty feet to land far enough away that both Epicanthix assassins nodded in satisfaction.

                “Good. Now, let us switch to the task of reverse somersaults,” Xuax continued, and Nuav motioned for her to come near once more. N’Lola nodded and approached, taking a prepared stance once more, and then Nuav lunged forward once more, this time making a low sweep toward the centre of her calves. This she was able to perform easily, a quick backflip to manoeuvre out of the path of which, landing back on her feet smoothly, while continuously keeping the training lightsaber behind her back, without attacking or striking herself.

                “Let’s try for altitude, now, and work on using the Force more. Control your movements, accelerate the leap, and attempt to hit the ceiling with your feet as you do,” Nuav instructed, and N’Lola looked up for a moment at the training room’s ceiling, five metres from the floor, before furrowing her eyebrows slightly at the task. She leapt back, as Nuav abruptly lunged with a slash toward her knees, using the Force to carry herself up and accelerate herself, as well, her heels swishing smoothly through the air about a half-metre from her goal. Nuav did not delay, leaping ahead with another strike, this time at her lower thighs, and she concentrated again, leaping quicker and higher than before, though her feet did not quite reach the destination. Twice more, Nuav swept in and struck at her, and twice more, she was able to evade, though it was not until the fifth try that there was a loud metallic clank as her feet struck the metal ceiling before she landed. Even as the sound registered in their ears, she was landing on the floor of the high training hall once more, her muscles burning slightly and her breathing quickened, with the faint hint of perspiration covering skin the same shade of grey as platinum. Finally, Nuav nodded in satisfaction at the accomplishment, satisfied as she learned to make such a leap outside of true combat, which meant it would be that much easier for her to use it in battle.

                “Excellently done,” said Xuax agreeably, “Now, let us focus on your forward somersault. Keep the training lightsaber in the defensive position for now.”

                “Understood,” N’Lola replied, and Nuav backed up so that he was roughly seven metres distant from where she stood, and motioned her to him.

                “First, let us work on distance,” Nuav advised, “I want you to reach me in one jump. If you fail to reach me, I will back up until I am the same distance, and you can try again.” She looked at him with a little skepticism, but she determined that since he asked it of her, it must have been an achievable goal, and therefore she determined she would make the leap. She focused on him, closing her eyes for an instant as she concentrated, then opened her eyes and leapt, making a three-metre-high arc that carried her across the twenty-three foot distance. N’Lola landed near enough that she could have fallen into him if she lost her balance, but she steadied herself, and her Epicanthix mentor nodded, and then instructed her to it a few additional times, until she was able to land without unsteadiness. Then, Nuav motioned once more toward the ceiling while moving out of the way to give her space.

                “Now, altitude,” said Nuav, motioning to the table. N’Lola walked over to it, setting the training lightsaber on the table, “Pick up your pistol. I want you to somersault high enough to click the base of the handgrip of your pistol on the ceiling twice; this will require great control in both the speed and altitude of the movement.”

                “And remember, this must not be a simple flip. You must remain in the rolled position and slow your descent enough to strike twice,” Xuax advised, and N’Lola nodded. She took a breath and concentrated, she understood what the challenge was and she understood the point of it and with the pistol in hand, she leapt and performed the desired somersault. As she leapt, N’Lola came close, but she knew she would be unable to reach the ceiling without extending her hand, which was not the task. She attempted it twice more, before accomplishing the desired task of double tapping the ceiling, two soft metallic clicks twice in a row. Then, she swept down gracefully onto bare feet once more, with a huff of breath from the effort of it, her skin covered in a thin sheen of perspiration.

                “Excellent performance,” Nuav praised once more.

                “Next, let us work on the various manoeuvres for the use of Falling Leaf and Rising Serpent,” Xuax advised, and N’Lola nodded, and waited for further instruction. As Nuav adopted a defensive posture, lightsaber positioned as a horizontal bar, N’Lola switched from one of her guns back to the long-handled training lightsaber.

                “First, let us work on your forward-rolling backward somersault, show me your withdrawing Falling Leaf,” prompted her mentor as she stood in front of his twin. N’Lola nodded, somersaulting as desired as Nuav came forward, bringing his blade up in the air as a horizontal bar to be hit. The short-distance reverse movement proceeded smoothly, until she unfurled and brought her blade down in a powerful sweep that came with the loud hum of the training blades striking one against the other. Twice more, she performed the manoeuvre followed by performing a forward-rolling, forward-arcing somersault that likewise ended in the technique known as Falling Leaf.

                “Now, let us work on your withdrawing manoeuvre for Rising Serpent,” Xuax said, and N’Lola nodded once more, as Nuav maintained his position once more. She took a deep breath and then leapt in a double reverse somersault, rising off the ground and rolling fully once before extending her blade in an upward-arcing slice that whipped across. It struck the training lightsaber of her mentor and slid across it, the nature of the strike being light enough that it would not disrupt the manoeuvre if the attack were blocked. Twice more she repeated this before switching to a forward-arc Rising Serpent, a forward double-backflip that would allow her to press in on a withdrawing enemy while remaining on the offensive and acrobatic. Even Nuav was breathing heavily by now with the exertion, as he switched places with Xuax, who nodded to her and then motioned toward the ceiling.

                “Rise there. Our next task is going to be working on your skill with using the Force to counter gravitational forces,” Nuav said, as he caught his breath, though in great need of a shower.

                “I am exhausted,” admitted N’Lola, her own form covered in a thick layer of perspiration, with the simplistic garments clinging against her skin.

                “Focus on the Force. Let the Force restore your energies, you still radiate power in the Force, you can do it,” replied Nuav, as he used Force Healing himself, to replenish. She nodded and took a breath, focusing herself on the Force, channeling it into a replenishment of her stamina, vitality, and readiness to continue her training.

                Once she was restored, she looked up at the ceiling, and then leapt toward the ceiling with a half-somersault, rising high enough that her feet struck flatly against the ceiling. She focused herself on the Force to hold herself to the ceiling, managing it for several seconds, before losing the connection and beginning to float downward, rotating her body to land back on her feet, and took a breath. Then, she leapt up to the ceiling a second time, rotating to land on it in a braced crouch as she placed one palm against the ceiling as well in an attempt to further connect herself to it. She managed to hold her position for nearly a minute, before the pull of gravity overwhelmed her, and forced her to rotate herself back into the upright position where she could land gently on the training room floor. However, hers was not a nature inclined to surrender or quitting, and she took a breath before immediately leaping again, holding to the ceiling for a full seventy-nine seconds. Then, as before, her focus and control faltered, and she floated down toward the ground once more, bare feet touching the ground gently.

                “Excellent performance, N’Lola,” praised Xuax as he observed, even as she made a fourth upward leap, and pressed the soft palm of one hand and the soft soles of her feet against the ceiling. She focused, channeling the Force into forming a palpable connection between her palm and the metal, between the soles of her feet and the metal of the ceiling. Her Force pulsed and coursed in a circuit, passing from her body to the ceiling plane through the sole of one foot and then back into her through the sole of the other, while her palm became almost adhesive through her use of the Force. For nearly two minutes, she held her position, though she had been training for more than two hours, their audience having already long-since dispersed as their free time expired.

                “Yes, I did… whoa!” she started, in excited self-satisfaction, before abruptly falling from her position, with her body reflexively rotating in the air to land on the floor in a braced crouch with a faint grunt at the force of impact.

                “… you lost focus,” Xuax observed coolly, stating the obvious. She winced faintly and rose from the crouch, nodded in answer to the statement.

                “Yes, well, achieving success in a challenge of such difficulty is somewhat of a distraction,” she replied, and Xuax chuckled a bit in understanding.

                “That is enough for today. If you wish, we will revisit your Ataru training tomorrow, and we will work with you until you have it mastered. Ataru is a form used by ancient masters, as this form allows a practitioner to counteract the effects of aging upon their body and their physical abilities. For instance, Ataru is used by certain Jedi who survived the terrible purge that was inflicted upon them from the rise of the Empire until the battle of Yavin, survivors who are of a truly ancient maturity,” explained Nuav.

                “One such ancient you might someday become, N’Lola,” Xuax continued, “As members of your species are extraordinarily long-lived, compared to the rest of us.” She nodded her understanding, taking a deep breath, though at present, her clothes were more than slightly moistened from the perspiration of a lengthy training session, and she was herself in definite need of a shower.

                “Thank you for the training session,” she said, bowing her head respectfully to her mentors, who were a fair deal older than she was. The twins were grown adults already by the time they met her when she was twelve, but the visual age difference had broadened since she reached full maturation herself. As the natural restorative factor of her species’ biology reached full maturation and came into effect, she seemed to have not aged in the last five years since she turned eighteen. In contrast, Nuav and Xuax now looked a full two years older than they did when she had reached full maturity herself, though they still did not yet appear to be thirty years old in human terms. She didn’t know how old they really were, but she suspected the answer was somewhere in the area of being old enough that either one was easily old enough to be her father. She knew the Epicanthix aged gracefully, lasting up until they were as much as a hundred and thirty years old, dying of age-related effects somewhere in the area of what a human would have assumed to be their seventies to eighties.

                Then, she proceeded to collect her gear and her clothes, moving directly to the showers to bathe for a second time, washing away the sweat of exertion. As she undressed and stacked her sweat-moistening training garments and perspiration-dampened undergarments, she considered the possibility of including some kind of laundering machines being added to the shower chambers. It would certainly have been a lot more convenient under current circumstances, but she put that from her mind and brushed her teeth, tending to her personal hygiene, before taking her shower. When she emerged, she redressed in most of her clothes before delivering the moistened ones to the ship’s laundering rooms, depositing the training garments in one basket and her personal garments in a niche with an electronic signboard with her name on it. Then, she returned to undress, don fresh lingerie, and then replace her combat gear before she returned to the bridge of her ship. As she stepped onto the bridge, Aerla turned her head immediately toward the young admiral.

                “Admiral, we are receiving a transmission from a nearby planet,” reported her chief communications officer.

                “On-screen,” N’Lola replied, as she took her seat in the admiral’s chair of the Vindicator’s bridge. A moment later, a collection of five human males appeared on the screen, though she did not recognize the face of any of them. Each man was what she would have guessed to be between twenty-six and twenty-eight years of age, each one having a light complexion and standing between seventy and seventy-two inches in height. One had dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, another had hair of golden yellow with eyes of apple green, and a third had hair of chamoisee brown with hazel irises. The fourth had black hair with eyes of cerulean blue, and the last had hair of lava red with ao green irises; all five had long hair in a braided, shoulder-length ponytail, combed and brushed to a clean shine and of an impeccable neatness.

                Each man wore half-sleeved aikidogi woven of a white fabric, the left side closing over the right to form a teardrop-shaped area encircling the neck and a split on each side at waist-level. The garment tied just an inch above the split, though it had an additional four inches of length following the split. Accompanying this garment was a pair of pants of the same white fabric with a split from either hipbone upwards, tied in the same way as the aikidogi was, and roughly ankle-length. Their ensemble was rounded out by a pair of ankle-high boots of bone-coloured leather that seemed like they were custom-made for the wearer, with white laces that matched those of their pants and their shirts. She noticed, also, that each bore a lightsaber hilt strapped to one thigh, with a handgrip twelve inches in total length, in a handmade holster of the same bone-coloured leather, positioned so that it would not impede their range of motion. Each lightsaber hilt was, in addition to a uniform twelve-inch length, made of a white metal she could not immediately recognize over the transmission, as they stood on the bridge of some kind of civilian shuttle.

                “My word, my Lady, you have but barely aged at all in these many years,” said the black-haired, cerulean-eyed male, “Apologies, you must not be able to sense our presence from so far away; you once spared our lives and advised us to allow the Light to guide us. My name is Jorren Mirkaire; we followed your wise counsel and permitted the Light Side of the Force to offer us guidance, and it brought us to this place.” N’Lola blinked in recognition of the name, from roughly nine years prior. She had never expected to see them again and certainly not out in a remote curve of the Inner Rim that was considered also part of the Unknown Regions, for some reason never previously explored.

                “The Light brought us here, to this uninhabited world, which we have named Serenna. This planet resonates an unusual calmness and tranquility, which we have enjoyed since our landing here. We have been waiting for you, for you are here, and we sensed that the time for our departure was near-at-hand; we are ready to leave our new home, if you will allow us to accompany you.”

                “I would be honoured to have you, but where have you been living, all this time?”

                “We pooled our skills and our resources, and one month after we left you, the five of us purchased a Taylander shuttle; then, we, ah… acquired… an imperial dropship transport. We dismantled it, eliminated all imperial tracking devices in the engineering, and loaded it into one of the Taylander’s several spare rooms. Once we arrived, we simply reassembled it and have maintained it since then, in anticipation of when the time would arrive for us to depart from this world,” replied Jorren, taking a breath before he continued, “We will board our IDT now and be on our approach soon; shall I assume you are on the largest vessel?”

                “Yes, and I will meet you in the hangar. I look forward to meeting you in peace, and learning the names of your companions,” she replied, and the five young men smiled warmly in answer.

                “Likewise, my Lady, likewise,” he replied, “Jorren out.” A few short minutes later, their dropship transport was ascending from the atmosphere and crossing into the stellar vacuum, approaching the fleet at a swift pace. Theirs had been clearly transformed into an unarmed version intended for expressly this purpose, lacking the weapons usually found on such a transport, which at least partially explained why the Empire hadn’t bothered to look for it. If they had stripped the weapons when they dismantled it and left those behind, perhaps the Empire felt it had nothing to be that worried about. As they approached, N’Lola descended to the hangar bay to meet the men she had not been in the same room with for nine years and had in some sense of the term, never truly met before now.

                “It is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome aboard the Vindicator,” N’Lola said, as they disembarked from their dropship once it had landed, “You know me as Selene. My true name, however, is N’Lola Vurkoth.”

                “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, my Lady,” Jorren said, bowing his head respectfully to the woman who was almost his age, though she did not at all look it, “Please, permit my companions to introduce themselves to you, who granted us our lives those many years ago.”

                “I am Owen Furth,” said the man with the golden yellow hair and apple green eyes, who looked as if he were the same twenty-eight years of age as Jorren.

                “I am Seamus Quartermaine,” said the man with dark brown hair and eyes to match, who looked to her as if he must have been twenty-seven years old.

                “My name is Caradoc Murrow,” the green-eyed redhead, who at an apparent age of twenty-six years was the youngest in the group, of which N’Lola had no doubt. The last, like Seamus, appeared to be twenty-seven years old, though he was a brunette of lighter pigmentation, with chamoisee brown hair and hazel irises.

                “I am Luan Corr,” he said in greeting, “Please allow us to learn your way.”

                “Even I am still learning my way,” N’Lola advised, “However, I would be glad to have additional company in the course of that journey. You may trust that unlike the Blackguard, I will not send you on fool’s errands or suicide missions, though I will want you to provide me with all you know of their order.”

                “In truth, we do not remember much of our former lives, nor what has happened since we departed from the Blackguard, but knowledge, knowledge we retain,” replied Jorren, “Knowledge we will share with you, our Lady.”

                “Before knowledge, you must have rest,” N’Lola advised, “Come, let me show you to somewhere you may take as your own bedchambers. I hope you do not mind sleeping in the same room, as our ship quarters are presently full, but there are a few empty cargo rooms which you could convert one of into a living space with a little effort.” At that, they nodded readily, collecting their belongings, lifting the satchels and large canvas bags against their backs, to follow her to the nearest empty hold. It was about one hundred metres on a side, which allowed them an area that was large proportionate to the rooms of any other crewman, though about comparable in total to the accommodations that were provided to any five.

                “I will see that appropriate beds are acquired so that you need not sleep on the floor in sleeping bags, though, unfortunately, the hold cannot provide all the conveniences of a standard living quarter,” she advised, but they nodded.

                “That is no trouble, we do not mind walking to the showers or the ship’s cafeteria for those needs,” replied Luan with a warm smile over his shoulder at the youthful admiral.

                “We are simply thankful that you have welcomed us to commit ourselves to your way, Lady Vurkoth,” said Caradoc, and she could sense the sentiment of contentment that emanated from each in this moment, “Your discipline and strength are impressive.”

                “The attack on the fleet commanded by Admiral Golm was not a random occurrence. The Blackguards were contracted for it with the promise of considerable remuneration from Emperor Palpatine,” said Jorren, “Our orders in the mission were to eliminate all possible avenues of escape on each of several ships by destroying everything in their hangars. We were then to locate and execute the captains, and in the case of the Indomitable, eliminate the admiral.”

                “The Blackguard organization believes that there is no Dark Side of the Force, and no Light Side of the Force, only the light and the darkness within each person. The teachings of the Blackguard advocate balancing between these two extremes: that every Blackguard should master not only the light, but master also their darker impulses,” continued Luan, informatively, “Of course, we have since learned otherwise, ourselves, by your wise counsel. The Blackguard belief system is that to understand the Force better, we should study every Force tradition or culture, but should remain in the process objective, and true to our own way, uncorrupted by either side.”

                “The Blackguard organization is led by one person, whose title is the Kursk. The Blackguard headquarters is on Mustafar, in the southern Jedi ruins therein, founded a thousand years ago by Vulta Daanat, a former apprentice to the Sith Lord Skere Kaan. Emperor Palpatine,” Caradoc went on where his companions left off, “promised to deliver the organization a payment of one hundred million credits and one thousand Force-sensitive children to raise in their culture, as well as acknowledging the Blackguard as an accepted Force tradition in the Empire. It was a promise seen as too good for the organization to miss, regardless of how many lives it might cost to achieve success. The Kursk badly underestimated Golm’s Fleet, and failed to account for you.”

                “The Blackguard is organized somewhat similarly to the Jedi Order, though I suppose that means little to one who was trained by a Sith Lord,” observed Owen, to which N’Lola chuckled and nodded lightly.

                “You would be correct in that supposition,” she replied, “Thank you for all the information. It is enlightening, as well as being damaging to the Empire. I will see to it that the greater population somehow… discovers… that the Emperor ordered the butchering of several thousand people including several loyal starship captains and an admiral.” She then excused herself, leaving them to settle into their new quarters and to wait for the delivery of spare beds that would permit them to rest without doing so on the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                The search ultimately took until the first day of the sixth month of the year, before her navigations officer at last informed her that they had picked up a remote imperial starship signal, located in sector I-12 near the corner where it met H-11. A nameless world with a Type I breathable atmosphere, it was nowhere near the coldest planet that was to be found in the Inner Rim, but as they scanned the planet, N’Lola would have put it in the top thirty percentile area.

                “Ma’am, we have located Admiral Tavares’ patrol fleet,” her navigations officer said, “The planet is unnamed and previously uncharted; present surface temperature is twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit.”

                “What is the condition of the admiral’s fleet?”

                “All fifty-two ships are accounted-for, Ma’am,” replied the navigations officer.

                “On-screen,” she instructed, and a moment later, she could see the ships had landed in a neat arrangement of ships, as if the entire fleet had landed in formation. The fleet’s flagship, a Venator-class star destroyer, was positioned in the centre of the rest: ten Raider-class corvettes, ten Vigil-class corvettes, eight Lancer-class frigates, eight Imperial II-class frigates, five Broadside-class cruisers, five Gladiator-class star destroyers, three Pelta-class hospital frigates, and two Victory II-class star destroyers. It accounted for just under three hundred seventy-five thousand imperial naval personnel, though admittedly the reason for the manhunt was perhaps, more truthfully, a result of the fact the admiral’s family was important to the Empire. Aristocratic loyalists possessed of both wealth and power, having a considerable influence on the society on their planet’s population of approximately two billion people, their requests were hard for Imperial Naval Command to refuse. So when they had requested a position of admiralty for their young son, primarily for the prestige of having an imperial admiral in the family and for their son’s prestige of being able to claim he had been an imperial admiral? It proved almost inconceivable for Imperial Naval Command to do anything except to nod their collective heads and grant what had been requested; since nobody had insisted his flagship be a star dreadnought, Admiral Tavares’ fleet included no such investment.

                “I didn’t know the Victory II had landing gear,” she observed, tilting her head slightly, as she examined the landed fleet on-screen, “I guess the good admiral received preferential treatment commensurate with the family coffers with regards to the personalization of his fleet.”

                “Speaking of, Admiral,” said Aerla, “Admiral Tavares has noticed our arrival. We are being hailed.”

                “Right on cue,” she observed quietly, “On-screen.” Aerla nodded her head in answer, and a moment later the image of the young admiral standing in his ready-room became visible. He was about the same age as her, at twenty-two years old, and he possessed a certain comeliness in his aesthetic form; indeed, she found him pleasant to look at, regardless of where his allegiances might have been. He had shiny hair of true-black colour and shoulder-length, with a braid on each side of his head and a third in the back, narrow and precise, though most of his hair was free flowing, the braids notwithstanding. His eyes were of a lovely shade of medium teal blue, with a somewhat sparkly aspect that furthered the pleasantness of his overall appearance, set against skin of a pale apricot colouration. He looked entirely out-of-place in his admiral’s uniform: not that he was unattractive in it, indeed quite the contrary, but it still looked as if he should have been wearing raiment brighter and perhaps a little bit more colourful. Dellus Tavares was what she would have estimated at five feet and seven inches in height and one hundred thirty pounds; not an especially tall man, indeed more than slightly noticeably shorter than most men, she thought he looked somewhat slightly underfed, too.

                “Hello, my name is… oh, my! You’re Admiral Vurkoth,” he began before his mind registered enough about her to realize who he was addressing, “I am Dellus Tavares, Admiral of Patrol Fleet 113.”

                “As I had surmised,” she nodded, “How do you come to be landed on such a snowy world?”

                “Admiral, scans indicate that while the ships are largely intact, sensors reveal evidence of internal explosive detonations,” interjected one member of her bridge crew as the scans completed.

                “Ah, yes,” the admiral on the ground replied to that officer’s report, “The fleet was infiltrated by a fair number of rebel saboteurs. I cannot be certain of how many saboteurs, but their coordination and numbers were sufficient that we were unaware of their presence until they struck. Precisely positioned ordinance rendered each ship’s long-range communications centre inoperable, along with both of each vessel’s hyperdrives, stranding us in deep space. The rebel infiltrators also assassinated every member of the engineering crew on each ship, both actively on-deck and those who were off-duty, rendering the damage inflicted to our engines and communications irreparable. I ordered combat and transport pilots to take the shuttles and starfighters to attempt to tow our ships to imperial space, and I… greatly regret that choice. Their hyperdrives burnt out rapidly from the strain, pulling us only far enough to come within a hundred thousand kilometres of this planet, and they exploded, killing each one’s pilot in the process. The rebel operation was responsible for the deaths of a few thousand men, and they have not returned. Thankfully, this icy planet is rich in life even in winter, and the speeders remained operational, allowing us to supplement our food stores with both freshwater and fish from a nearby lake of rather remarkable size,” Admiral Tavares said at length.

                “Fortunately, our entry into the atmosphere was smooth and so was the landing, so our bacta supplies are still fairly high. There were several injuries when the fleet fell out of hyperspace when they destroyed our hyperdrives and a few of the men contracted pneumonia in the cold of this planet’s winter, but everyone is healthy again now. I’m glad I demanded landing gear on all ships, including the Victory II’s,” Dellus continued, “It would have been exceedingly difficult to keep them supplied with food while in orbit or supplied with power to remain floating in the atmosphere.”

                “How did you come to be passing through this part of the Inner Rim, Admiral? This section doesn’t have any occupied worlds that are recorded on any maps and none that are the concern of the imperial admiralty,” N’Lola went on, and Dellus shifted as if with a faint hint of unease.

                “Ah, yes, that I would like to discuss in a more private venue. Can you send a shuttle to bring me up to your flagship, Admiral?”

                “I will do that immediately. Aerla, transmit instructions to Caradoc Murrow and Luan Corr to escort Admiral Tavares safely aboard-ship,” N’Lola replied, and Aerla immediately began running her fingers across the touchscreen.

                “I shall wait the arrival of your men, Admiral,” replied the young admiral, before terminating the channel. In less than an hour, Admiral Tavares stood in N’Lola’s ready-room, looking out the window of transparisteel, gazing at the planet below.

                “Thank you for your… discretion, Admiral,” said Dellus, as he considered how to broach the answer to what she had asked prior, “My fleet was assigned to the simple but worthy task of patrolling the Inner Rim, much like yours. However, admittedly, this was… well, slightly boring to me, and I decided to take a brief detour to a planet in the Mid Rim, though… that planet is quite a bit distant from the Inner Rim.”

                “Do you have a contact on this world?”

                “Ah, contact is… not so much the word I would use to describe him so much as the word I would choose to describe what we’d be doing,” he replied, and she sensed a flush of embarrassment that suggested he was most likely blushing, the embarrassment mingled with a touch of fear. She could sense that the embarrassment and fear both had the same point of origin: for whatever reason, he was embarrassed by this admission, and he was frightened that her reaction might have included an expression of disapproval or worse yet, disgust. Her eyebrows furrowed while Dellus spoke, until the last part, which caused her to blink with the sudden realization of why his ships had set such a course.

                “… oh, my,” she replied simply, taking a moment to recover her bearings from the surprising revelation he’d just offered her, “I see. I take it your family would… politely disapprove of such a connection with another man?”

                “Far more than disapprove, and with nothing courteous about it,” he replied, “As much because of my lover’s gender as because of his species.”

                “Your lover, he is…”

                “From Iridonia,” supplied Dellus.

                “A Zabrak,” she said, and his nod confirmed her understanding as correct.

                “We had arranged to meet on the planet Korbin, a fairly neutral world of only a million residents, so no one local would know about our meeting. My crew would believe I was only meeting with a cultivated intelligence asset,” he continued, “May I confide something in you, off the record?” N’Lola nodded in answer.

                “You may speak freely, Admiral. This room is not monitored. I ordered all such devices purged from every ship in my fleet; Imperial Naval Command will hear nothing of our conversations.”

                “I… do not share my family’s convictions or philosophies, as you have no doubt guessed, nor do I share their lack of sympathies. I do not hold the rebel saboteurs responsible for their actions nor accountable for the war at large; the Empire is a thing of evil and malice,” Dellus said quietly, “And I would not have my lover know that I was delayed because of rebel actions, for I would not wish him to think unkindly of their Alliance, either. However, I receive from my family an annual stipend of one and three-quarter million credits, and I have a minor task I would like to ask you to perform for me. If you could locate my lover and tell him my fleet has had an unfortunate engineering complication, due to the ongoing civil war raging across most of the galaxy, and that I am therefore considerably delayed, I would happily transfer my annual stipend this year to your personal coffers.”

                “I would be happy to deliver such a message for you, though perhaps better yet we can see to it that you can explain it to him yourself, through your own words and methods. My fleet has an abundance of engineering supplies, and an abundance of engineers: it might be quicker to repair your fleet, so that you could then proceed to Iridonia and contact him directly,” she replied.

                “That would… that would be wonderful, my Lady,” said Dellus in answer, finally turning to her with a bright smile and cheeks coloured with the warmth of a blush, “Please, allow me to reward your kindness, I will transfer the funds to your account at once.”

                “Actually, Admiral,” she interjected, “There is something else I might better benefit from.”

                “Name it, and if it is in my power, I will see to it that you have it.”

                “As you may have noticed, there are no hospital ships in my fleet, and the Pelta-class medical frigate is quite a lovely vessel,” N’Lola began, moving to stand beside him, looking out the window herself, though his back was to it at the moment, “I wonder, how much would they cost for a wealthy imperial admiral?”

                “I paid for all three of the ones in my fleet, personally, with less than two years’ stipend; Kuat provides them at-cost, exclusively for use in the Empire’s naval fleets. I can purchase them personally, as an Imperial Admiral, and I can have them delivered into the possession of someone other than myself, if that person should be either captain or admiral in rank; each ship costs eight hundred thousand credits, nine hundred thousand if modified with any particular specifications. I would like to provide you with two such vessels, just tell me what special requirements you have for them and where you want them to be waiting for you.”

                “Each one must have a Class 1.0 primary hyperdrive, Class 2.0 secondary hyperdrive. It should also be scaled up in size to allow for the accommodation of two thousand additional patients at any given time as well as one thousand additional permanent passengers,” N’Lola said in response, and Dellus nodded promptly as he took a seat at her desk and tapped a few keys, bringing up a vertical display monitor.

                “That will be simple enough; the Pelta-class hospital ship can already take care of five thousand patients at one time, increasing that number to seven thousand will not be terribly difficult. The additional permanent quarters, I suspect, will also not be troublesome for Kuat Drive Yards in terms of fabrication difficulties; I can sense that you are not done, though.”

                “You are correct in that regard. I would like to replace each ship’s light laser and turbolaser batteries replaced with a suitable distribution of quad turbolaser cannons: four port, four starboard, twelve dorsal, and twelve ventral, as well as two at the stem and two at the stern,” she continued with a nod.

                “All right, done,” replied Dellus, “Where do you want them to be delivered to wait for you?”

                “Have the ships carried to a high orbit over the planet Walalla,” she replied, and Dellus nodded in response.

                “They will arrive in the Walalla system in the first week of the eighth month. This should give you time to collect the personnel you need to crew your new core vessels,” he replied, then stood and touched a few more buttons on the touchscreen, causing the monitor to slide back down into the desk and vanish, “Thank you, again. This whole situation could have been far more humiliating. If I might impress up on you for one additional favour, my Lady, there is one more small concern I would like your assistance with.”

                “I would say it depends on how small a favour you are asking, but I am absolutely in a listening mood.”

                “Well, you see, it would be quite embarrassing for not only myself but my captains, and all of the men under my command, should Imperial Naval Command hear that we were disabled by rebel saboteurs without even achieving anything. In the last few weeks,” said Dellus, “I have spoken with my captains, who in turn have all spoken with their commanders and their lieutenants, and the men throughout my fleet are in unanimous agreement that it would be nice to save face, a little.”

                “I can certainly agree with that. Have you and your men considered what kind of story you would want given to Imperial Naval Command?”

                “As you were sent to locate us, when you report that you found us, you will doubtless be asked to give details as to the reason for our unexplained absence. The men and I would be greatly appreciative,” answered Dellus, “if you could include in your report that in the course of your search for us, you discovered a few battlefields with debris from pirate vessels bearing our weapons signatures.”

                “So the fleet’s cover is that you delved deep into the uncharted sector of the Inner Rim hunting pirate havens, while en route to a meeting with an intelligence asset on a planet in the galactic south of the rim,” N’Lola confirmed, and he nodded firmly.

                “Yes, that. It will be nothing that anyone will refute; if we claim that we encountered and destroyed Alliance bases, the rebels would obviously refute that and call the entire story into question, either now or after the war if rebel forces should win the war,” replied Dellus.

                “Whereas nobody’ll miss pirates,” N’Lola followed, and Dellus nodded enthusiastically once more.

                “I can do that,” she replied, before moving to her desk and touching a few buttons on the touchscreen, “Aerla, please order the immediate mobilization of the fleet’s off-duty engineers and instruct them to take engineering supplies down to Admiral Tavares’ fleet. They are to repair each ship’s main and secondary hyperdrives, and communications arrays.”

                “Understood, Admiral; transmitting deployment orders now.”

                “We will remain in orbit overhead while my engineers restore your fleet to proper working order, it wouldn’t do for your fleet to be attacked while on the ground by pirates. Might prove problematic for your cover story, Admiral,” she said, and Dellus offered a faintly sheepish grin in answer. Once Dellus departed to return to his ship, she took her seat and brought the monitor up once more, sending a long-range communications hail to Imperial Naval Command. It took a few minutes before the channel was opened, and resulting in a direct communication with the Admiral Llon Banjeer, a square-haired man with whom she hadn’t spoken before. She recognized him by his appearance, however, having perused imperial naval databanks extensively: it was best to know one’s enemies, after all.

                A man with light, reddish-blond hair cropped flat at the top and trimmed across the back and sides, it produced a squarish look to the top of his head. He had eyes of a sort of yellow-green set against a light, untanned complexion, standing at what his naval personnel file defined as less than one half of one tenth of a centimetre below one hundred eighty-eight centimetres and just slightly above ninety-seven and a half kilograms. Dressed in a typical naval uniform, he regarded her with one pencil-thin eyebrow raised disdainfully in her direction from the moment he saw the woman of an apparent eighteen years old, though she was in truth nearer to twenty-three.

                “Ah, yes. Admiral Vurkoth,” he said in a contemptuous voice, his articulation of her rank dripping with icy, venomous derision, “What do you want?” Even across the vastness of space, now electronically face-to-face with him, she could sense the intensity of his human chauvinism and the abhorrence he felt at having a nonhuman commanding an imperial fleet. He did not attempt to hide his sentiments, either, though given the humanocentrism and xenophobia of Sheev Palpatine’s Empire, she could hardly describe that as anything other than wholly expected.

                “I received orders from Imperial Naval Command to participate in the search for the missing Admiral Dellus Tavares. The Admiral has been found. His Fleet was assaulted by rebel scum whose saboteurs disabled them in the uncharted zone as the admiral was undertaking the noble and virtuous task of hunting and eliminating pirate havens. The Admiral was able to rally his fleet to a nearby world with a ‘Type I’ breathable atmosphere and await rescue. The trail of pirate debris he left produced an easy trail to follow, once we were able to locate part of it. The Admiral may bring you up to speed once his ship’s long-range communications centre has been properly repaired.” As she spoke, she noted a blinking blue light on the wall opposite her desk, visible over the top of the upraised monitor screen, and casually moved one hand to touch the button on the touchscreen that granted entry. This was followed by a faint whir as the doors opened and the young Admiral Tavares returned, for some reason outside of her knowledge. However, it was obvious that she was speaking with someone, and he remained out of sight of that individual, listening closely.

                “Hnn,” replied Admiral Banjeer disdainfully, “Well, it certainly took you long enough to locate the admiral’s fleet, but I suppose this is what we must tolerate when allowing a fleet to be in the command of a juvenile female of… whatever it is you are. Still, you have managed against all odds to successfully locate and assist a human admiral… although I am quite certain had we a human admiral in the Inner Rim performing the search, he would have found the Admiral far sooner than you did.” N’Lola breathed deeply as he berated and demeaned her, air passing into her lungs and back out again in a smooth cycle, and her facial features remained unmoved and tranquil. This seemed to aggravate the xenophobic, middle-aged admiral, insofar as that he was unsuccessful in his attempt to provoke a rise out of her, his best attempts notwithstanding.

                “Your assessment may or may not be accurate, Admiral, but we shall never know for certain. We must simply be thankful that Admiral Tavares has been located alive and unharmed, with a fleet that remains largely operational, aside from damaged engines and communications arrays.” Llon Banjeer’s slim left eyebrow twitched in irritation, as the young Bpfassh took his disrespectful comments in stride without so much as a twitch of her eyebrows at the words, and his jaw set as the agitation ground against him.

                “Indeed,” he replied, “Perhaps next time an Admiral turns up missing I will be able to convince the command to send a real admiral, and not some inept alien child.”

                “I shall pray that you are successful in that, Admiral, the next time an imperial fleet inexplicably disappears,” she replied coolly, her tone tranquil and courteous. She could sense his anger bubbling inside of him, infuriated as his attempts to provoke her into an inappropriate verbal confrontation. However, she also knew the entire conversation in progress was being recorded, and the serenity she expressed would serve her well – and would damage Banjeer, at the same time. As Llon’s eyebrow twitched anew, her facial features continued to demonstrate only a placid mood.

                “Good,” said Admiral Banjeer, his tone of voice remaining snide, “if there is nothing further for you to report, however, my time is extremely important and I have none remaining available to speak with an inexperienced child.” He did not delay long enough to allow her a response, immediately terminating the channel as soon as he was finished speaking, and N’Lola touched the button on the touchscreen that triggered the monitor to disappearing into the desktop.

                “Would you like me to have him eliminated? My family is quite wealthy enough to have him removed from the admiralty,” Dellus offered, “Or assassinated.”

                “No, thank you, that’s all right. Foolish, conceited discriminators like him are regularly the architects of their own downfall, the victims of their own pride,” she replied, “although, I appreciate your offer and the sentiments behind it. However, you are not psychic, so I must conclude the reason for your return was not that you sensed the conceit of Llon Banjeer.” Dellus chuckled and shook his head a little in answer.

                “No, I realized that you have been more than forthcoming, and as I was walking toward the lift, I realized… I should like to invite you to join me for dinner aboard my ship, the Dominus,” he said.

                “The Dominus?” asked N’Lola inquisitively, to which Dellus offered a somewhat sheepish smile.

                “Yeah, Taylen found the irony hilarious, too.”

                “I would be delighted to join you,” she said, sensing nothing but warmth and friendliness from him.

                “Fantastic,” he replied enthusiastically, and returned to the hangar to wait for her arrival. Once she returned, accompanied by Nuav and Xuax, the four of them reentered the atmosphere of the nameless, glacial planet, to board the Dominus for a few hours.

                The repairs, themselves, proved to take until the seventh day of the seventh month of the year, before Dellus bade a warm farewell to N’Lola and her ships. They proceeded to enter hyperspace headed in the direction regarded as galactic north, so that Dellus could meet up with his Iridonian Zabrak lover, Taylen. Meanwhile, they proceeded to the Walalla system immediately, and her fleet was present when the specialized Pelta-class frigates arrived. N’Lola was amused, when she saw that their names had been marked as the Saviour, and the Deliverance, but she was prompt in putting Nuav and Xuax in temporary command of the two ships. She likewise temporarily reassigned one thousand people to each ship to provide it operating capacity, and then the two Lieutenant Commanders left on their assignment to fill in the new ships according to her specifications. Meanwhile, N’Lola continued a slow, casual patrol around the portion of the Inner Rim regarded as the galactic southern curve of the region.

                When the Saviour and the Deliverance returned to the fleet at the beginning of the second full year after the Battle of Yavin, her mentors confirmed a full crew aboard each. Each ship now housed seven hundred Iktotchi Force Healers, thirty-six Twi’lek communications officers and thirty-six Twi’lek gunners, and one hundred and twenty-eight humans, protected by one thousand three hundred security personnel. The security personnel aboard each ship, as per N’Lola’s instructions, consisted of six hundred and fifty Barabel, and six hundred and fifty Annoo-dat Primes, of high combat expertise. Her fleet now expanded to twenty-five ships, N’Lola continued her patrol of the Inner Rim, moving from Vaklin to Affa, then from Affa to Denon, then from Denon to Manaan, maintaining the peace as best she could.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ongoing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                As her fleet came to a halt in a high orbit over the planet Manaan, a familiar chiming sound broke the silence.

                “Admiral, receiving a communique from Imperial Naval Command. Transmitting the orders directly to your ready-room,” Aerla reported.

                “Thank you, Aerla,” she replied, standing and departing from the bridge as the fleet floated above the planet, returning to her ready-room to learn what the imperials’ newest orders would be. As she sat down at her desk, N’Lola heard another chiming sound, coming from the top, right drawer of her admiralty desk, opening it and discovering that it was not the Black Sun communicator, but the one the Alliance had placed there when it provided her with the ship. She pulled it out, setting it on the desk and tapped it, and found the Alliance, too, had something they wanted of her, and so with two holo-screens of text in front of her, she read one communique, and then the other.

 

_Admiral Vurkoth,_

_Recently, Admiral Riwwel has turned to engaging in acts of piracy, targeting not only nonhumans but human freighters and commercial vessels, as well. Thus far, Admiral Kemel Trowe of NAVCOR Command has overseen the task of convincing the public with great success that the attacks are coming from an unknown piratic element and that it could not be Admiral Riwwel. According to all official documents, Admiral Riwwel is engaging the rebel scum in a system in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, but we both know this story will not hold indefinitely. Riwwel will slip up, a survivor will get out, and it’ll be all over the Holo-Net: imperial admiral turns pirate, Empire covers it up. There’ll be bedlam throughout the Inner Rim, the likes of which we have already seen in the Outer Rim and even the Mid Rim._

_You are ordered to locate Admiral Riwwel and eliminate both the admiral and his fleet of imperial soldiers turned cutthroat pirates. Success in this assignment will be rewarded highly._

_His fleet was last reported in the Spirana system._

_Imperial Naval Command_

_Admiral Michael Hennat_

_Confirmation Code: 1423-8750-968H_

 

                “Heh,” said N’Lola to herself, a faint, smug smirk curving her lips, “Already the Empire begins to collapse. Still, the elimination of a bloodthirsty pirate is a worthy task.” She then turned her eyes to the Alliance’s communique.

 

                _Lady Selene,_

_We have lost contact with an Alliance admiral, last tracked entering the Inner Rim in the vicinity of the planet Bogden, where he launched an attack that killed all thirteen million humans on the planet. We have disavowed him as well as publicly condemning his genocide and calling for his execution, but the Inner Rim is too dangerously filled by imperial fleets, and the battlefront has yet to reach your region. We must ask that you track down this mass murderer, and eliminate him; the admiral is a Rodian, and he has developed strong anti-human sentiments during the course of the war. His actions, now, are as deplorable and as vile as the actions the Empire has taken in their genocides against nonhumans and dissenters. He must be stopped, and you are the only one we feel that we can trust in hunting him, as the Empire seems content, for some reason, to allow him to roam unchallenged._

_Please know your contributions are appreciated, as you have permitted outstanding success to our operations in the Outer Rim, which is now almost wholly liberated from Imperial oppression. We are making excellent progress on the Mid Rim, but we wanted to let you know, your homeworld is protected and has been liberated from the Empire._

_Senate Military Command_

 

                “Guess everyone has fires they need extinguished in the Inner Rim,” she observed to herself, “That Rodian’s the bigger threat, it seems like. Riwwel will need to wait.” She immediately proceeded to the bridge, moving to take her seat in the admiral’s chair.

                “Helm, take us to the Bogden system, and open a channel with the planet’s imperial command centre,” she instructed, and waited the several hours it took to arrive. On their arrival, they learned from the planet that the Rodian admiral’s fleet had decimated the entirety of every human sector on the planet, exterminating humankind from Bogden in the process. Less than ten thousand humans had survived the onslaught and those because they were children who were not at home but rather who were in the homes of nonhuman friends at the time. They learned, also, the Rodian’s fleet had then proceeded galactic-south toward the extremely heavily human-populated world of Paqualis III, wherein there were nearly twelve billion human residents. As they travelled to Paqualis III, she discovered an imperial fleet in the system, which looked as if it had taken a moderate beating, but given the absence of additional debris, she deduced that the Rodian had fled the sight of an imperial expeditionary force.

                The Admiral of the Fleet reported that the Rodian’s fleet was impressive: two Lucrehulk-class battleships as well as a Viscount-class star defender at the core, supported by three Space ARC-class star cruisers. This was further enhanced by the support of three Home One-class Mon Calamari star cruisers, three Liberty-class Mon Calamari star cruisers, four Dauntless-class heavy cruisers, and ten Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers. A total twenty-six ships in all against the Admiral’s own fleet, which consisted of fewer but stronger vessels, he reported the Rodian had launched a surprise attack on them as soon as they arrived, then fled before they could return fire. The Imperial Admiral reported that the Rodian’s attack on the planet of Paqualis III had cost the lives of seven billion imperial citizens.

                On the topic of the direction the Rodian had taken, he indicated galactic south, further down the Corsin Run of the Hydian Way. She proceeded immediately to Per Lupelo, where she found a massive debris field of cargo ships with imperial markings, and once again, humans had been all but exterminated from the planet, with sixty-two million human dead on the planet. The planet was now inhabited all but exclusively by Iktotchi and Quarren, whom the Rodian had no apparent ill will toward; humans were the ones he hated. This time, however, she was able to track the trail of the Rodian’s fleet, and the fleet set an immediate course to pursue him further. The Rodian proved elusive and quick, hitting the planet Drearia and eliminating an additional one billion humans out of the planet’s population of somewhere around twelve billion in all, then bypassing the planet of Champala, where no humans dwelled. He turned toward the galactic east thereafter, to the planet of Poderis, where he eradicated all seventeen million residents and left the planet a ghost world. She was finally able to catch up to him on the nineteenth day of the first month in what historians were calling 2 ABY, in the Joiol system, as his fleet began a bombardment of the planet.

                “Order the fleet to lock onto the Rodian’s Lucrehulk battleships and fire a full bombardment, then jump into hyperspace immediately, in the direction of the Chazwa system. If the Rodian likes to play hit and run, we will show him that we know how to play that game, as well.”

                “Affirmative, Admiral,” replied the Bpfassh helmsman, with a faint hint of a smug smirk crossing his features in the process. Seconds later, missiles were launched and even before they reached their destinations, the fleet launched into hyperspace, whipping around to face the Joiol system as they came to a halt about two billion kilometres out from the Chazwa system.

                “Admiral, the Rodian’s fleet is incoming, it looks like he’s taken the bait. Sensors indicate that the Lucrehulks are not presently with the fleet,” reported the helmsman.

                “Order all ships to reload and prepare to fire on the Rodian’s Home One-class star cruisers, and to open fire immediately on his arrival. Then, enter hyperspace immediately, returning to the Joiol system.”

                “Affirmative, Admiral,” replied Aerla, transmitting the orders. As the Rodian’s fleet came sweeping out from hyperspace, N’Lola’s fleet released a full-scale bombardment before leaping into hyperspace once more. As they were making the crossing, her navigations officer reported the signatures of the Home One star cruisers had vanished from the fleet, and as they arrived over Joiol, they found the Lucrehulks had been likewise destroyed by the bombardment. Twice more, the Rodian chased them, and twice more, the Rodian’s fleet lost ships as N’Lola’s fleet struck and then leapt into hyperspace immediately afterwards. His fleet diminished from twenty-six ships to fifteen, as her fleet took out the battleships, and all nine of the star cruisers, leaving only the star defender and the heavy cruisers. Finally, the Rodian’s fleet arrived in the Chazwa system yet again, but this time, came out of hyperspace roughly eight hundred thousand kilometres outside of her fleet’s weapons range.

                “We are receiving a hail, Admiral,” reported her chief communications officer, and she nodded to Aerla once in response to that statement.

                “On-screen, Aerla,” she replied, and the Rodian’s features soon appeared on the screen. A man of unusually large antennae and yellow-green scale colouring, with iridescent black eyes, he stood at a height of one hundred and seventy centimetres and just under seventy-two and six-tenths kilograms in weight. Standing roughly three inches and thirty pounds slighter than her, he was no longer clothed in military raiment, but had taken to a more comfortable state of attire that only confirmed to her that he had gone rogue.

                “If you want a battle, imperial swi- …” the Rodian began, then halted and blinked as he realized the diverse, nonhuman composition of the bridge crew, despite the imperial signatures of the fleet, “You are not humans.”

                “Aren’t you a perceptive one?” she queried smugly, and his eyebrow ridge flattened in response, one side of it twitching faintly, “I am Admiral Selene of Republic Naval Intelligence. You have been engaged in the commission of war crimes against the human species, attacking civilian targets with no conceivable military value. You are as bad as those who destroyed the planet of Alderaan, you have been responsible for the deaths of several billion humans and your actions do nothing to aid the Republic you’ve abandoned. Your genocide stops here.”

                “And how do you intend to stop me? My fleet is now outside of the reach of yours,” sneered the Rodian, and then blinked as she simply smirked in answer to his challenge. She lifted one hand, and he felt the Force on his throat. She seized him by the throat with the Force, she could see him and thus she could target him with her power, and she lifted him by the throat, though without choking him. Instead, she simply killed him outright, snapping his spine and crushing the windpipe simultaneously, while also severing both major arteries in the throat. There was no such thing as overkill when you wanted to make sure that your target died as quickly and as mercifully as possible, even if they had done nothing to merit such benevolence. A moment later, she dropped the Rodian’s body on the floor of the bridge of his Viscount-class star defender. The monumental warship, seventeen thousand metres from the fore to the aft, had done little to protect the murderous admiral from her reach.

                “Anyone else feel like continuing his genocide?” she asked, to which the bridge crew indicated a hurried and negative response, shaking their heads emphatically, “Good. Here are your new orders, rebels. You, you’re the captain of this star defender, correct?” At her second question, she looked at the figure who seemed to be the greatest authority still alive, the one to whom the rest seemed to be deferring. A Zabrak woman of five feet eleven inches and about one hundred and ninety pounds, with tan-coloured complexion and dark blue tattooing on her face, she had a smooth scalp with hair only in a large circle at the back. This hair, dark brown like her eyes, was drawn into a ponytail of roughly elbow-length, and the thirty-nine-year-old stepped forward immediately when N’Lola singled her out.

                “Enqua Xebac, Admiral,” she replied, “Admiral Jolla’s actions were not my own, but he was a frighteningly brutal commanding officer for those of us not graced in the Force.”

                “I am giving you a field promotion to, ah,” she paused and looked sideward thoughtfully for a moment, then continued, “Lieutenant Commodore. There is an imperial fleet preparing to make an assault on the planet Rannon, in the Outer Rim. You are to proceed there immediately and inform Alliance command of the impending assault, instruct them to rendezvous with you. Defend the planet, ensure that the Empire does not secure a renewed foothold anywhere in the Outer Rim. Tell Alliance command that I have neutralized the Rodian butcher and that your fleet is returning to your duties in the naval forces of the New Republic.” The newly promoted Lieutenant Commodore blinked at her for a moment in slack-jawed disbelief, but then quickly acclimated herself and nodded promptly.

                “Understood, Admiral,” she replied, turning her head, “Helm, set a course for the Rannon system, and prepare to engage hyperdrives.”

                “With respect, Captain, I do not see the wisdom in taking the word of an imperial…”

                “Did you not hear her introduction?” replied the Lieutenant Commodore, whose rank N’Lola was certain she had probably just invented on the spot, for all it mattered.

                “You will address her as Lieutenant Commodore, Ensign,” N’Lola added, “Disrespecting a superior officer is a serious offense under military law.” The Ensign looked as if he might have something to say in response to that, then thought better of it, and promptly proceeded with the orders provided.

                “Course set, Lieutenant Commodore,” he replied, though his voice carried the tone of a continued uncertainty.

                “Get underway now, Lieutenant Commodore, before an imperial fleet arrives. I would not like to explain my reason for allowing an enemy fleet to casually sail away, it would make maintaining my cover rather difficult,” N’Lola said, and the Lieutenant Commodore nodded immediately. She terminated the communications channel, and within a few scant seconds, the surviving fifteen-ship fleet vanished into hyperspace, while N’Lola’s returned to Joiol to survey the damage. Admiral Jolla’s attack on the planet had killed an additional six million humans in the first few volleys of his barrage, but unlike the situation on Poderis, the massive majority of the residents of Joiol had survived his attack due to the timeliness of her arrival.

                Once assured that Joiol would be receiving proper military reinforcements from the Empire, she proceeded in her search for the imperial admiral who had gone rogue and begun engaging in piracy.

 

                Over the next several months, the hunt for Admiral Riwwel proved to be far less simplistic than she had first thought it would be, a fact compounded by Admiral Banjeer’s never-ending provocations. On the sixteenth day of the eighth month, the fleet swept out of hyperspace so that a stable long-range communications channel could be opened, only to discover as she sat at her desk, that it was yet again Admiral Banjeer.

                “You still have not found the traitorous Admiral Riwwel? I have continued to tell Naval Command that it is pointless to assume that a mere… what are you, again? Well, whatever you are, I have continued to inform Imperial Naval Command that entrusting such an important mission to something like you, was a foolish waste of time and that if we truly wish to locate the treasonous worm, a real admiral should be dispatched,” he began, and by now, N’Lola’s patience had begun to wear thin.

                “Admiral, do you realize how many times you have disrupted my search to berate me on my lack of success in tracking down an elusive pirate admiral?”

                “I beg your pardon?” came the blank response, surprised by the fact she’d abruptly changed her tone from a voice of meek deference to one of respectful inquisition.

                “It is now the first day of the fourth week of the eighth month of the year. In this time, since the beginning of my search for Admiral Riwwel, you have forced my fleet to come to a complete stop to receive a communication from you, on forty-three separate occasions. From this, I may deduce one of two things: you are either attempting to flirt with me in the best way you know how, with these repeated communications, or you are attempting to intentionally impede my progress in the completion of imperial orders to prevent Admiral Riwwel’s apprehension,” she said, then continued, “Neither of which is appreciated. I have filed a report regarding your ceaseless disruptions of my ability to complete my duties to our great and glorious Empire; someone must secure stability in the Empire’s strongest regions, while older, more experienced, human admirals lead on the front lines.”

                “Why you little… you are very fortunate I do not come out there and put an end to you, myself!”

                “Threatening an imperial officer occupied in the commission of her duties? That is a major criminal offense under Imperial Military Law, Admiral Banjeer,” she said, before standing up, the monitor automatically rising further to maintain angle and perspective, “If you will excuse me, I have a piratical traitor to track down and execute per my orders from Imperial Naval Command. I will not tolerate any further interruptions to my work, and given the amount of evidence you have provided me with to validate the report I’ve made – thank you for that, by the way, Admiral – I strongly suspect Imperial Naval Command will be similarly unamused.” She then tapped the touchscreen of her desk, terminating the channel immediately before walking out of her ready-room, rolling her eyes at the Admiral repeatedly disrupting her just to insult and demean her for her failure to be human. As if she had a choice in the matter.

                “Helm, resume course,” she said serenely, reclaiming the admiral’s seat of the bridge.

                For the rest of the month, N’Lola received no communications from Admiral Banjeer nor Naval Command. On the third day of the ninth month she received a response from Imperial Naval Command, informing her Admiral Banjeer had been permanently reassigned to the Fath sector. The Admiral’s threat to try to murder her, combined with his repeated disruptive messages, had earned him severe censure, including the reassignment to the task of protecting one of the Empire’s few holdouts in the Outer Rim, the resort world of Ord Cantrell. The communique also provided an update in the matter of her quarry, Admiral Riwwel, informing her that his most recent pirate attack had taken place in the Dalcretti system, just two days prior. On their arrival, she discovered the humans there had contracted a Black Sun operative for assistance on her behalf, paying handsomely for information that would allow her to track down the pirate admiral. When she arrived on the planet to meet with them, the Black Sun operative was quick to hand her the datacron as they convened in Dalcretti’s main council-hall. The farmers and ranchers of Dalcretti were rather evidently tired of their efforts going toward providing food to a band of bloodthirsty, cutthroat pirates and their leader.

                Following the instructions on the datacron, N’Lola was able to track the location of Riwwel and discovered he was presently in hyperspace, headed for the border-planet of Foless. It was a destination that would cost her time: Admiral Riwwel was unimpeded by the regulation that bound her to the Inner Rim, he could pass through the Colonies in a beeline. She, however, had officially been prohibited from entry into the Colonies region, and needed to circle it, making an arcing path to Foless, which allowed him to hit the planet and proceed on his way thereafter. Her own fleet was faster, but not by enough to compensate for the added thousand or more light years that it probably cost her in the distance to be travelled, being barred taking a straight path. However, she finally caught up with him in the star system of the planet Norah, which presently remained under the control of the Galactic Empire.

                His fleet was small, but it was impressive: one Executor-class and two Assertor-class star dreadnoughts, and six Dragon-class heavy cruisers. Despite the fact he had a ‘mere’ nine warships, his fleet was a considerable threat for her to face, possessing what could be arguably regarded as far superior firepower. It would require cunning to defeat, leastwise to defeat it without losing most of her fleet in the process, and people she valued too much to sacrifice them on the Empire’s altar.

                “Open a channel, hail them,” she instructed, her fleet more than two million kilometres out of firing range of Riwwel’s small but lethal fleet. In addition to nine actual warships, it could field five hundred seventy-six starfighters, and she did not want to be near enough to the fleet before she knew what course of action she should take in advance of it potentially launching starfighters. Riwwel, however, had the disadvantage of that he had been using up munitions and power cells that he could not easily replace: military-grade hardware was found only in heavily defended supply depots on either side of the war. His piratical attacks had been primarily focused on targets that could provide little in the way of rearmament, whatever value in food and treasure had been acquired.

                “Admiral Riwwel is responding,” replied Aerla, and soon the human’s countenance appeared on the screen. He was an older male, or at least older in comparison to herself: dark brown hair greying with age and matching eyes, and what looked to her as if he was in his latter fifties. Dressed comfortably, much the same as Admiral Jolla had been when she encountered him, he was about six foot four and two hundred thirty pounds. As he looked at her, he blinked in wide-eyed surprise as he realized that he had been hailed by a youthful, nonhuman admiral.

                “Does the Empire regard the threat I pose as so little?” asked Riwwel.

                “I do not follow your meaning, Admiral Riwwel.”

                “They sent a nonhuman girl to kill me,” he clarified, “and not a human adult? I would have thought the threat I posed would be at least worth the investiture of that hack, Banjeer.”

                “Banjeer was too busy harassing and insulting me for being nonhuman, at least until he was reassigned for interrupting my search for you. I was pretty sure you and him were best friends,” she replied coolly, and his eyebrows flattened into a line, unamused, “I’m guessing based on you calling him ‘that hack,’ you two don’t see eye to eye on a great many things.”

                “No,” he said icily, “we don’t. However, there’s little time for that, now, since I will have to obliterate your fleet to prove to the Empire I am more of a threat than they think. Men, order all weapons loaded and made re- …”

                “There is another alternative, Admiral Riwwel,” N’Lola interjected before he could terminate the channel.

                “Oh, yes? Just come quietly, I suppose?”

                “Actually,” N’Lola replied with a smile that was equal parts warm and smug, “I could tell you where to find Llon Banjeer. He was reassigned from Imperial Naval Command for harassing me; he’s in command of an actual fleet again, now.” Riwwel blinked at the offer, completely blindsided by the offer.

                “Wait, what?”

                “You are highly disillusioned with the Empire, now, correct?”

                “Yes…”

                “…and might that translate to an interest in defection to the Republic?” she followed.

                “The Republic is dead. The Empire crushed it.”

                “You are well-aware the Rebel Alliance intends to restore order to the galaxy through the formation of a new Republic,” N’Lola countered, to which he nodded his assent, slowly, “You would like to, perhaps, join the Republic’s forces, instead?”

                “Yes. I suppose you could say that.”

                “Well, given the events on Acherin, including the destruction of an ancient city of inestimable archaeological significance, you would need to earn your own entrance into the naval forces of the new Republic. Your impeccable naval career and impressive fleet notwithstanding, you would need to demonstrate a commitment to the Republic and the goals thereof.”

                “For which I suppose you have a suggestion, young lady?”

                “I do, indeed, and I think it’s one you’ll like.”

                “The suspense is killing me,” Riwwel replied, crossing his arms impatiently.

                “You have been making meaningless piratical attacks in the Inner Rim for several months. Everyone believes you are in the Inner Rim,” she started.

                “We are in the Inner Rim,” he interjected.

                “… for which reason no one will be expecting you to make an attack somewhere in the Outer Rim,” N’Lola proceeded, unfazed by his utterance, “such as, just as one example, the star system to which Admiral Llon Banjeer’s fleet was recently assigned. You should confirm this with a friend in the admiralty – I’m sure you have more friends in the Imperial Navy than I do, being human – and surely one of those friends shares your disdain for Banjeer.”

                “Yes, a few of whom have impressed upon me to adopt a more progressive attitude toward nonhumans, which you are strongly encouraging at the moment, young woman,” Riwwel replied, “So I have two questions for you.”

                “By all means, feel free,” she answered.

                “First, where was Admiral Banjeer assigned?”

                “Admiral Llon Banjeer was assigned to the defense of Ord Cantrell,” she replied, looking toward Aerla for a moment, “Aerla, please inform Admiral Riwwel of the composition of Banjeer’s fleet.”

                “Yes, Admiral; one moment, accessing,” replied the Twi’lek, drawing her fingers across the touchscreen and plucking the information from the imperial databank, “Admiral Llon Banjeer has been assigned a fleet whose flagship is the Venator-class Star Destroyer Odium, supported by six Gladiator-class Star Destroyers, eight Dreadnought-class Heavy Cruisers, ten Dragon-class Heavy Cruisers, and twelve Lancer-class Frigates.”

                “Tsch,” replied Riwwel, “A pittance befitting that fool. Thirty-seven ships my fighters could take out if I felt inclined to give them to the task. Now for my second question, what do you get out of this?”

                “A finder’s fee,” she replied with a smug smirk.

                “Excuse me?”

                “The Alliance is always on the lookout for imperial admirals willing to defect, ones not averse to backing up their words with their actions. Men of action, such as yourself, are always welcome in the Republic’s Navy, providing an ability to abide by military law; according to your file, which I took the liberty to peruse during my search for you, your military record was exemplary,” she replied, “Well, until you abandoned the navy and engaged in piracy instead.”

                “You have a way about you, girl,” he chuckled magnanimously, “Yes, I do have a tendency to abide military law, but the Empire is a sinking ship. I wasn’t about to be associated with it so immediately that my neck would be in the way when the ax fell, particularly since the actions at Acherin had eaten at my spirit; it was not my choice, I was ordered to take that action.”

                “Then demonstrating your loyalties by decimating Banjeer’s fleet out from under him should work well for us all. You may, of course, wish to confirm my information, which I would not hold against you,” she continued, “So please, feel free to contact your own allies still within the admiralty, call in old favours. Ask them to tell you where to find Banjeer, and the composition of his currently fleet.”

                “I shall do that,” he said coolly, “since as you say, trusting you might be a fool’s errand for me, but if you’re truthful in your words, none will hear of it from me or any of the men in my command. Particularly in light of the fact, I don’t know your name, and under the circumstances, I’m not going to ask. Helm, set course for Ord Vaug, order the fleet to prepare to engage hyperdrives at maximum. Farewell, young lady; perhaps when the war is over, we may still be alive enough to see one another again.” A few moments later, the nine warships went simultaneously to hyperspace, vanishing in the direction of a planet in the Expansion Region. Fortunately, thereafter, whatever happened, Riwwel at that point ceased to be her concern: she had only to report that he’d gone to hyperspace and she had lost track of him in the Norah system.

                Naturally, Imperial Naval Command was unhappy when they heard that Admiral Riwwel had eluded her via the simple mechanism of leaving the Inner Rim for an alternate region of the galaxy. However, it was not yet enough to convince them to loosen the leash or for that matter to remove the tether that currently bound her to the Inner Rim, though it was sufficient that they felt it was unavoidable she had lost track of him. Either way, she had been ordered to resume typical patrol duties until further notice.

                During the first month of the third year after the Battle of Yavin, news reached her of the decimation of the fleet under Admiral Banjeer in the Ord Cantrell system. The admiral, himself, had eluded death that day – but the full breadth of his fleet, had not: he’d received a suitable demotion for that fact, down to the lowest rank of the admiralty, but he’d been provided a renewed fleet. Naturally, he had attempted to place the blame on her for his misfortune, and in the process, had lost much of his credibility with Imperial Naval Command as a result.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ongoing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                The ensuing period of six months went with incredible smoothness as N’Lola continued her patrol throughout the Inner Rim. Her clandestine transmissions to the Alliance remained undetected, as her free reign within the region allowed her to be consistently in locations a thousand light years or more from any imperial vessel. Outside the Inner Rim, and even in some portions of the Inner Rim, the war continued to be waged with fierceness by both sides, though the Empire’s ferocity was waning while the Alliance’s was only continuing to build. On the fifteenth day of the month, as they were moving between two systems in the galactic-northeastern section of the Inner Rim, a familiar chime filled the air, and Aerla half-turned in her seat.

                “Admiral, receiving a long-range communication from Admiral Hennat, confirmation code indicates privacy desired,” reported the Twi’lek lieutenant.

                “Put it through to my ready-room,” she said, rising and moving to her ready-room, where there was a blinking blue light waiting for her on her desk. As she walked to her desk, she brushed her fingertips across the surface of the desk and the blue light, triggering a holo-emission to rise up out of the desk and form the image of the Admiral himself.

                Admiral Michael Hennat was a man of forty-two years, with true-black hair and vibrant irises of bluish hazel colour, accenting his light-skinned complexion. At a similar height to herself and only a few pounds heavier, he was a well-muscled man, in the way that military men frequently were during the height of their military career. Despite the fact that he was no longer wearing an imperial naval uniform, he was still dressed nicely, in a dark blue dress shirt and matching dress pants, with brass buttons, black leather boots and belt with brass buckles.

                “Admiral Hennat,” she greeted, facing the holo-image, “How may I assist Imperial Naval Command, today?”

                “Then you haven’t heard. Good,” answered Hennat, cryptically, before enlightening her, “I just disabled the Imperial Naval Command Centre, my fleet is currently blasting a path out of the Deep Core. I require your assistance, but I cannot be more specific: my contact informed me that an Admiral Calrissian needed to meet with me, and that you are the regional asset who can ensure my safe transit through the Inner Rim.”

                “All right, Admiral,” she said, sitting down and beginning to brush her fingers quickly across the keyboard of her touchscreen, hurriedly producing the information needed and transmitting it to him, “Take your fleet out of the Deep Core to the galactic west. Meet me at these coordinates: this region is unmapped by any other except myself, so I can guarantee your security there, provided you are not followed.”

                “Understood, Admiral,” replied Admiral Hennat, “We will make sure that we are not being pursued, we will rendezvous with your fleet in that location in four days. If we arrive before you, how will we know we are in the right system?”

                “The planet is an arctic world, yet unnamed. We are currently near Reecee, however, and should be there in advance of you if all goes according to plan.”

                “Affirmative,” replied Admiral Hennat, before terminating the communications channel. Just three days later, N’Lola and her fleet sat waiting Hennat’s arrival in the system, and were ready when the Admiral’s fleet swept out of hyperspace the following day. His fleet was impressive indeed, hauled from the Deep Core, and N’Lola surveyed that fleet thoroughly. Admiral Hennat arrived with his flagship, an Executor-class star dreadnought, accompanied by three Assertor-class star dreadnoughts, five Subjugator-class heavy cruisers, and nine Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, all of which supported by seventeen Dragon-class heavy cruisers. Thirty-five ships in all, it could have taken on a massive amount of enemy ships and come out the victor no matter what kind of casualties it might have incurred, in the process. As the Executor-class star dreadnought floated in amidst her fleet to dock with her Providence-class carrier/destroyer, N’Lola moved to the corridor connected to the docking port. Her flagship looked quite minute by comparison; indeed the Executor dwarfed most of her fleet combined in terms of sheer physical magnitude and in terms of total personnel aboard the ship.

                “Welcome aboard, Admiral Hennat,” N’Lola greeted, as the docking bay doors opened and the first one that stepped aboard was Hennat, himself, who walked forward and bowed his head respectfully. She reciprocated that, and he smiled warmly.

                “A pleasure to make your acquaintance in person, at last, Admiral Vurkoth,” he said in response, “Shall we retire to your ready-room to speak more privately?”

                “If you would prefer, that is agreeable to me. We are secure in this system, for now, especially while imperial naval communications are down throughout the galaxy. You’ve facilitated great victories for the Republic by taking down the intragalactic communications network, even if only for a few days,” she replied. Together, they walked the distance to her ready-room, a refreshingly brief trip according to Admiral Hennat, though with his ship being nineteen kilometres in length, she could see how hers would seem like a brisk walk around the corner to him. Once they arrived, and the doors whirred shut behind them, Admiral Hennat immediately took the opportunity to speak that was provided by the fact they were now in private, and she had not initiated conversation herself.

                “I would like you to know, I did not come to this decision easily, this choice of defection, I mean,” he said, taking a deep breath as he walked to the window and looked out on the stars, and the icy planet below.

                “It must have been a difficult choice. You’ve been in the military since you were a young man, and of those two dozen years, you were in the Imperial Navy for almost all of them,” N’Lola observed, standing behind him, about three metres behind and two metres off to his left-hand side.

                “Yes. May I share my story with you?”

                “I would be honoured, Admiral. You are an experienced veteran with an impeccable career record and maybe even more impressively, an unblemished admiralty.”

                “You blandish well, Admiral Vurkoth,” he chortled softly as he looked over his left shoulder, his left eyebrow rising as he did, “When I was a young man… eleven, maybe twelve years old, I had a friend who demonstrated to me his Force-sensitivity. He was a handsome young man, gentle and sweet natured, a young Cathar named Wallas; then, one day, a Jedi Master came, taking Wallas as his padawan and leaving with him. He was not the only friend of mine who became a Padawan and later a Jedi, though: there was also an Iktotchi boy named Emeric, and a Leyakian girl by the name of Vi Harre, of whom I was quite fond. During their years as padawans, even as they became Jedi, they kept in touch with me, maintained their correspondence with me, until the beginning of the terrible purge that began twenty-two years ago, when I was twenty years old. I never heard from them again, and I knew that three of my closest friends in the galaxy had no doubt died because of the Empire’s genocide. Still, I held out hope that the Empire might be good for the overall galaxy, and I remembered what my friends had told me of Jedi philosophy.” He paused, taking a breath as he stared out the window, but she could tell he was not done with his story, and she had no intention to disrupt the Admiral’s decision to share his story with her, even if only in part.

                “So I remained in the Empire, a loyal soldier as I rose through the ranks, hoping the Galactic Empire would be what was best for the galaxy. When I learned of the development of the superlaser, I went through the appropriate channels: I filled out the paperwork, I filed a protest against devising or constructing such a weapon,” he continued, “Yet, I still held out hope. When it was constructed nevertheless, I made a second official protest about the existence a ship that would be armed with such a device, but I held out hope that it would never be used, that it would be there only as a warning. I was a fool.” Once more he paused, staring at the icy world ahead of the fleet, eyes glistening with the inner sorrows he must have felt, despite that he had no fault in anything that had transpired, and could have done nothing to prevent them.

                “When the weapon was deployed to the planet of Alderaan, I worried. More than twenty of my closest friends since Wallas and Emeric and Vi, were of Alderaanian descent, and were on the planet when it was destroyed. Like a fool,” Admiral Hennat went on, his voice as rich with sorrow as what she sensed exuding from him so intensely it nearly burned her senses, “I remained loyal to the Empire for three more years even following the commission of such a heinous act. I ordered every Alderaanian in my fleet to take to shuttles and go at once, to flee the Empire’s brutality, to do whatever their conscience demanded of them. I have wracked my brain for three months to think of a reason that I remained loyal to the Empire, and I can come up with nothing to validate it. Then, three months and two weeks ago, High Inquisitor Antinnis Tremayne murdered a man named Jovan Vharing, who had inherited the position of Captain of a ship called the Interrogator, for something that his recklessly ambitious lieutenant had done while Captain Vharing was in bed. Jovan was the best friend I had had since the destruction of Alderaan, had been my friend for twelve years, in fact; finally, I realized that the Empire was a slaughterhouse. It would only ever butcher entire populations, murder those I cared about, and in the name of the ghosts of lost friends, the memories of those I love, I leave the Empire and follow the path that they would have wished me to take from the start.”

                “I only hope I can make contributions to the galaxy, now, that will make up for my tardiness and my failure to act,” Admiral Hennat concluded, taking a deep breath as he steadied himself, then turned toward her once more, “I thank you for listening. Now, show me, young friend, the safest path from this place to the planet Timora, where I am to rendezvous with Admiral Calrissian.” She nodded quietly, not pestering him with questions or burdening him with comments, simply tracing her fingers across the desk of her ready-room, activating a holo-map. It showed her personal charting of the entire inner rim, including portions that appeared in such detail on no map the Empire or the Republic had access to, and the whole of the Unknown Regions, as well.

                “Your fleet can make sharp turns in hyperspace, correct?”

                “Yes. The centrifugal forces of such turns are monumental, sufficient to shred most ships apart, but if shields are raised, it should be possible, why?”

                “You will not likely want to stop to change direction in unfamiliar space, and the safest path to Timora would be by complete circumvention of the Empire’s spatial territories. This means,” she said, tracing a path with her finger through the holo-map from their current location, “you should direct your fleet to E-13 before altering course to G-16 so that you can come to Timora from the galactic northwest. This would allow you to slip by an unexpected trajectory, which increases your security exponentially.”

                “You are a clever young woman, Admiral Vurkoth. I will instruct my fleet to drop out of hyperspace in E-13 at the first star system with no sign of machines or sentient life within six hundred light years, for security purposes, to minimize the risk of my fleet being torn apart. I’m sure the ships could survive it, but I’d rather not take the chance.”

                “Understandable, Admiral,” N’Lola said agreeably, “and let I be the first to say, the new Republic welcomes you with open arms. Your fleet is remarkable and your record incredible; I am sure your friends would be very proud of the decision you make today, and would support it wholeheartedly.”

                “Thank you, Admiral Vurkoth,” Admiral Hennat said.

                The following day, Admiral Hennat’s fleet departed from the system using the trajectories she had provided, with the promise that she would be praised on Hennat’s arrival for her assistance. A few days later, as N’Lola’s fleet sat in a high orbit over the planet Foless, the Imperial Naval Communications Centre came back online. As the fleet’s databanks updated, and she received a communication from Alliance command updating her on the situation, N’Lola found the war had taken a major surge in the Republic’s favour. Thirteen major battles had occurred in thirteen separate star systems in the brief window that Admiral Michael Hennat had provided them, and in every case, the result of that disruption was the same. Each battle ended in a catastrophic loss for the Empire, thirteen fleets destroyed and thirteen heavily populated star systems, most of them in the Mid Rim, liberated from Imperial oppression.

                Unsurprisingly, she also had a communique from Imperial Naval Command, which she chose to read in her ready-room, as protocol demanded.

 

                _Admiral Vurkoth,_

_As of the upcoming first day of the seventh month, you are no longer bound to the Inner Rim; you may patrol throughout the Empire’s reach without further hindrance. Admiral Thrawn has repeatedly chastised our refusal to put your clear talents to greater use than the duties of patrolling the Inner Rim, in which avenue you have excelled. It is our hope that with your talents, the Empire may change the tide of the war back to one of imperial favour. You are to prepare your fleet for participation in a major battle that will crush the rebellion permanently, to occur in the early segment of the following year. Your fleet will be expected to provide additional security to one of the critical functions of the plan; you will receive clearer mission orders in advance of the battle, including the location of the battle and a position your fleet shall be instructed to take._

_Imperial Naval Command_

_Confirmation Code 1883-9873-451P_

 

                “Well, that was unexpected,” N’Lola said to herself as she read the information, and then reread it to confirm she had understood the full implications of it. Once she had, she immediately returned to the bridge, taking her seat in the admiral’s chair.

                “Helm, set a course for the Gholondreine system, Imperial Naval Command has finally cut our tether and granted us authorization to travel throughout imperial space.” On their arrival, N’Lola returned to her ready-room and transmitted a warning to the Alliance’s Naval Command structure of a plan to launch a major ambush on the Alliance’s naval power at some point in the unknown but foreseeable future. She couldn’t yet give them more than that, but they did relate back to her that their spies in other sectors of the Imperial Navy reported that a certain Admiral Banjeer had learned of it as well, and had had a rather bad reaction. On learning he was being excluded from major military action in which her fleet had been invited to partake, he had begun to seethe and fume, even going so far as to publicly rant about it on three separate occasions. At least, until his commanding officer told him it would cost him his admiralty if it didn’t stop, at which point, Banjeer had settled into a silent seething that she might want to use to her benefit later.

                From there, N’Lola ordered her fleet to the planet Serenna in the unknown regions of the Inner Rim, in which system they proceeded to spend their next few months in intense training. Finally, in the start of the second month of 4 ABY, Imperial Naval Command delivered the combat orders: Endor. Her orders in-hand, N’Lola contacted Alliance Naval Command immediately, using the holo-emitter in the desk of her ready-room.

                “Admiral Selene?” queried the communications lieutenant who answered her holo-transmission initially.

                “I have vital information for the Alliance. I need to speak with high command.”

                “Right away, ma’am!” replied the communications lieutenant, scrambling to his feet and rushing off so swift he tripped and stumbled, nearly falling before righting himself and vanishing around a corner. A few minutes later, he returned with a collection of what were obviously admirals and generals, as well as a few who looked as if they were politicians and not soldiers.

                “Admiral Vurkoth,” greeted a woman of stately beauty and magnificent poise, “I am Mon Mothma. We are told you have vital information that you would like to share. Please, by all means.” The auburn-haired, blue-eyed fifty-one-year-old prompted her, and N’Lola nodded, as the woman’s eyes remained intently focused upon her.

                “As you have no doubt heard, the incomplete Death Star II is presently orbiting the forested moon of Endor. This is an ambush: the Empire means to spring a trap intended to crush the resistance utterly,” she warned, and then continued, “The battle plan hinges heavily on two key elements. First, you are expected to be unaware that the shields are actually operational until you arrive in the system and discover it. Once the Alliance fleet is in the desired position, a wall of interdictors commanded by Fleet Admiral Firmus Piett will come into position behind you. These ships will be using their ability to disrupt gravitational forces and therefore disrupt hyperspace travel to prevent the fleet’s escape. However, Admiral Piett has been ordered not to engage directly: the Death Star II’s superluminal laser arrays are also fully operational.”

                “Thank you, Admiral Vurkoth. Your information has been most helpful. We will be in touch with instructions once our tacticians and strategists have worked out the best solution to the threat you have revealed to us. The Republic thanks you for your service,” Mon Mothma replied. N’Lola nodded and offered a quick salute, then terminated their communications channel. Four hours later, she received a communique instructing her to move to coordinates G-17, where she would rendezvous with two admirals whose connection to the Alliance she had secured, herself: Admirals Riwwel and Hennat. Together, their three fleets would comprise the reverse pincer that would eliminate Admiral Piett and his interdictor fleet through a major assault from their rear flank.

 

                As the day of the battle arrived, N’Lola opened a channel with both admirals and confirmed their readiness, and their fleets’ readiness. Once they were certain that everyone was prepared, N’Lola’s fleet made the jump and came into position amidst Piett’s interdictor fleet. They were there to provide security for Piett’s interdictor fleet, since they were unshielded and needed to be defended if they were to be able to make the contribution that the planet called for. Meanwhile, Riwwel and Hennat waited for her signal to attack. As the battle came underway and the interdictors fell into position with N’Lola’s warships amongst them, N’Lola ordered the quick loading of weapons in the direction of Admiral Piett’s flagship. It would be her signal.

                “Admiral, all missiles and torpedoes are prepared to open fire on your command,” reported Aerla from her communications station, “The Interdictors are completely unshielded; Admiral Piett has also not raised shields on the Executor.”

                “He is not expecting trouble. He was told that his fleet would not be in harm’s way, they would simply be a wall that would block Alliance manoeuvres. Order all ships to unload the maximum ordinance on the Executor,” came her reply, with a faint touch of sympathy for the admiral who was about to learn he had been badly outmanoeuvred, “order them to fire any weapons that cannot hit the Executor at the nearest interdictors. Instruct them to maximize the number of ships destroyed by focusing fire on precise targets.” The interdictor wall consisted of three hundred of them and the Admiral’s Executor, spread out far enough to make a massive contribution to the inhibition of manoeuvres by the Alliance’s Fleet.

                “Also, order the full mobilization of all starfighters. This is the day we’ve been training for, and if the Force is with us, at least most of us should come out of this battle alive.” Seconds later, as pilots raced to their starfighters and hangar bay doors opened throughout the fleet, a full bombardment was unleashed which succeeded in the nearly instantaneous destruction of Admiral Piett’s Executor. Simultaneously, a dozen more ships were destroyed by the fury unleashed as starfighters swarmed out of their hangar bays. Barely a minute later, Admiral Hennat’s fleet swept in on one far flank while Riwwel’s arrived on the other, mirroring her movement: a full-scale bombardment followed by a swarm of hundreds of starfighters sweeping out from their hangar bays. Even as the interdictor captains realized their part in the battle was far closer to the frontline than they had been forewarned and began to counterattack, starfighters and capital ships alike were eviscerating the interdictor wall. N’Lola could sense the startled explosion of rage aboard the Death Star II, as they no doubt noticed the ambush that was snapped shut on their interdictor wall, and knew who it was that had orchestrated it. Yet, even so, there was nothing to be done for it now: the Death Star II was engaged in a ferocious struggle, itself, as battle raged all around it, at exceedingly close range.

                Several minutes later, the interdictor wall had been utterly annihilated, though it cost the lives of more than two thousand rebel pilots, more than six hundred of which had originated from her own fleet. The fleet took heavy losses, and the losses were worse yet for both Riwwel and Hennat, who lost slightly more starfighters than her fleet. At the same time, however, the ambush was a resounding success, with the destruction of the Executor, the inhibition of the Empire’s tactics, and the impact it had on the rest of the armada’s ability to focus on the destruction of the Death Star II. Their three fleets had taken heavy damage in addition to the loss of most starfighter personnel as they whipped through the interdictor wall, but once the interdictors were down, the battle was over for them. When the battle at last ended, it allowed her to take stock of the damage, and she was amazed that every ship in all three fleets had survived, even if they had taken a severe beating in some cases.

                Out of just over four hundred and four thousand personnel, nearly one hundred thousand were reported dead, and she was thankful that she had instated the standing order she had before the battle. She had ordered every captain in her fleet to be prepared to make an emergency hyperspace jump if they took damage that was extreme, which had saved tens of thousands of lives, and several ships. The Acclamators were critically damaged, though their loss of life was almost nonexistent because of the heavily armoured nature of the troop barracks’ inside each, they had been forced to retreat early in the battle. The hospital frigates had fled early, as well, early enough in fact that both of them were in nearly perfect condition, per N’Lola’s orders that they would be needed after the battle and were to pull back at the first sign they were being targeted.

                The Albatross, the Dauntless, the Ox, the Ram, and the Dreadnought-class Heavy Cruisers, had suffered the potentially largest percentile of crew fatalities. It was the Vindicator, itself, however, that had taken the heaviest fire, and had suffered the largest number of dead in physical volume, with more than twenty-seven thousand of those dead being Vindicator personnel.

                In the aftermath of the battle, N’Lola saw to it that all members of her fleet who had died were given proper burials on their native worlds, eulogizing at every ceremony. As hard as it was to give eulogies on several worlds, and to so many bereaved, she knew that it was what they needed, and her personal code demanded that they deserved the closure. They deserved the closure of knowing not only how, where, and why their loved ones had died, but how they had lived, and that they had died heroically, doing what they knew was right: protecting those whom they left behind. It was important for their families that their healing could begin, and it could not start without the closure that only a commanding officer could provide. For her part, N’Lola simply felt thankful she could tell their loved ones, in every eulogy, that their loved ones’ sacrifices had made it possible to free the galaxy from tyranny. Their sacrifice had been instrumental in killing Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader.

                As her fleet underwent extensive repairs, N’Lola had dismissed every person in the fleet, granting them each permission to return to their homeworld for as long as they wished. If they did not wish to return to the military life at any point in the future, or did not wish to leave their homeworld again, she would not hold it against them. For herself, she returned to Bpfassh, allowing the Republic and every member of her fleet to know where to locate her if they were to decide they wished to continue to serve under her command. As she and tens of thousands of fellow Bpfasshi came back to their homeworld, she was accompanied by those who had no other home to return to except N’Lola herself: her mentors, Nuav and Xuax, the five young men she had picked up from Serenna, and the Jilruan assassins.

                She soon discovered her fellow Bpfasshi she had led congregated into her area, and she found herself moved to the formation of an Order of her own, which she called the Ven-Shimu. As those who had been under her command trickled back to her, N’Lola focused on a task of great importance to the Ven-Shimu: the documentation of what would be the Code of the Ven-Shimu. Every Order needed a code, Nuav reminded her, and as the founder of that order, in the first month of 6 ABY, the responsibility to create that code fell to the twenty-eight-year-old. Finally standing in the light, her long years undercover now behind, N’Lola set herself to the task of creating the Ven-Shimu Code, as her kin transformed her family’s ancestral home into the first Fortress of the Ven-Shimu.

 

                _Wherever there is brutality, we shall bring restoration._

_Wherever there is oppression, we shall bring liberation._

_Wherever there is hatred, we shall bring benevolence._

_Wherever there is Darkness, we shall shine the Light._

_We commit ourselves to the protection of the peaceful._

_We commit ourselves to the healing of all who are ill._

_We commit ourselves to the maintenance of justice._

_We are the Ven-Shimu Order, we are warriors for the Light._

 

                For the next five years, N’Lola managed the growth and the stabilizing of the Ven-Shimu. By the time she had finished writing the code, she learned that the Chistor who had been under her command had built a Ven-Shimu Fortress on Chistor. When she was informed that similar fortress-academies had been constructed on the planets Annoo, Barab I, and Panatha, she knew she needed to divide the personnel who had returned to her. As a result, she appointed Jorren Mirkaire, Owen Furth, Seamus Quartermaine, Caradoc Murrow, and Luan Corr to be the commandants of those five respective fortresses.

                On the ninth day of the second month in 12 ABY, N’Lola experienced a Force Vision that showed her a lush, green world, wholly uninhabited, and she knew she was meant to search for that world. The thirty-four-year-old would simply need to organize a fleet, and then set out in search of that nameless planet, hidden somewhere deep within the Unknown Regions.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The continuing tale of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                By the end of the fifth month of 12 ABY, N’Lola had what she needed for her long voyage: rather than taking a fleet, she would take one ship, the Republic’s first-ever Venator-class star dreadnought. It would not be the only one ever built, but this one had been built for her, the Republic’s way to express their gratitude for her many contributions as a deep-cover asset in the Empire for fourteen years. It looked almost indistinguishable from the Venator-class Star Destroyer on which it was based, but it had been scaled up dramatically to serve the role of a star dreadnought, instead. As it sailed down onto the landing pad of the Fortress of the Ven-Shimu on Bpfassh, N’Lola looked it over with pleasure: 7,959 metres in length and 3,836 metres in width, with a depth of 1,876 metres, she found it impressive and spectacular. The ship had massive hangars, and carried inside it a complement of two thousand four hundred starfighters in total, with Class 1.0 Main Hyperdrives and Class 1.2 Backup Hyperdrives. It boasted a cargo capacity of a hundred thousand tons and sufficient room for four years of consumables to sustain a full crew, painted blue and white where a Venator-class star destroyer would have been maroon and greyish-beige, with the name ‘Explorer.’

                The ship had shielding comparable to an Executor-class star dreadnought, though with a dramatically smaller size in terms of physical magnitude. The ship was also extraordinarily heavily armed, with one hundred heavy proton torpedo launchers and two hundred dual emplacement heavy turbolaser cannons. The Explorer boasted four hundred quadruple turbolaser positions to protect the ship against starfighter attacks, in addition to the weapons that would let it engage both heavily-armoured warships and if necessary, planetary defense emplacements. It called for a total crew of two thousand to be optimally operational, with enough sickbays to accommodate four times that many at any time, and had accommodations for sixty-five thousand eight hundred permanent residents aboard-ship. Given the presence of two thousand four hundred starfighters, half of which the heavy assault variant of the ARC-170 and half the heavy assault variant of the Cutlass-9, many of those rooms would be occupied by fighter crews and each fighter’s associated flight crews.

                Albeit the same size as other ARC-170’s, the heavy assault variant removed the need for a droid, and replaced all weapons from the normal variant with heavier versions. Outfitted with two forward-mounted dual heavy turbolaser cannons and two rear-mounted dual heavy turbolaser cannons with a wide rotation angle, it carried the same payload of six proton torpedoes found in every ARC-170. Similarly, the Cutlass-9’s heavy assault variant replaced two regular laser cannons with two dual emplacement heavy turbolaser cannons, and allowed for the starfighter to carry an optimal payload of four proton torpedoes for engagement of heavily armoured enemies. Now all that was left for N’Lola to do was to return to her quarters and prepare for departure, setting aside the comfortable, civilian garments she had worn for the last few years of peaceful meditation and maintaining a regimen of intense combat practice. Fortunately, that would only entail a quick change of attire, as all was in readiness, since she had been preparing for this day for months.

                She paused, looking at the wall where her past was memorialized. Her black raiment hung proudly from plain wooden knobs, while metal hooks cradled the hilt of her original, red-bladed lightsaber. Meanwhile, other metal hooks cradled her original blaster carbine and blaster pistols, her original long-handled lightsaber and her twin tonfa-style lightsabers, with their dark gleam. An era of stealth in her life, a time when she survived through infiltration into her enemies’ hierarchy and dreamt of days like these, when she would no longer need to hide her true nature. In preparation for her departure, N’Lola showered one last time in her personal bedchamber, and then dressed for the voyage into an uncharted part of the galaxy. Knee-high stockings and lingerie of white cotton were followed by flexible, formfitting cotton of a silver-white colouration that took the form of a half-sleeved shirt and pants whose leggings went down to her upper calves. Her ensemble culminated in white leather and electrum: a leather belt and soft leather boots of knee-height with electrum buckles, and a double-breasted jacket having decorative buttons and a functional, diagonal zipper made of electrum. The jacket itself was skirted, long enough to reach her lower hips, with a pistol holster on each hip in place of a pocket, sheaths over each shoulder for her tonfa-style lightsabers, and a horizontal carbine holster across the lower back.

                Now fully clothed, N’Lola turned her attention toward collecting her new set of weapons, the ones she meant to carry for the remainder of her life. Forged of white beskar and electrum-accented, she had invested a Force-imbued, dark violet crystal in each of her Heavy Assault-variant WESTAR-35 blaster pistols and in the 9118 blaster carbine. A similar crystal sat in each of her new tonfa-style lightsabers and in her long-handled lightsaber, which were identical in dimension to the previous ones but like her new guns, forged of white beskar and accented with electrum. Smoothly, she holstered the carbine across her back, the pistols at her hips and the tonfa-style lightsabers over each shoulder. As N’Lola lifted the twenty-inch grip of the long-handled lightsaber, she took a moment to look at herself in the mirror, going down her mental checklist to make sure she had all she would need. She activated her long-handled lightsaber, the dark violet blade humming forth and complimenting her white-and-gold attire, and she smiled as her eyes focused on the shimmering blade before deactivating it. She proceeded immediately to the hangar, boarding her personal battle shuttle, the Mandalorian Aka’jor class she had acquired years ago and kept maintained and up-to-date for this reason. Soon enough, her shuttle flew into the hangar bay of her new ship, sweeping in until she landed in one far corner that was not already occupied with any of the hundreds of starfighters.

                Her crew had already loaded, sixty-two thousand eight hundred Ven-Shimu personnel, though three thousand rooms remained vacant. She couldn’t take everyone the Ven-Shimu had to offer, or somewhere, one of the Fortresses of the Ven-Shimu would have been negatively affected by falling below her desired minimum level of residency. Each fortress sprawled across fifty thousand acres, the amount of land she had inherited with the death of her entire family, more than twenty years prior. She was setting out on her expedition with each Fortress occupied by a thousand Force-sensitive soldiers and forty-nine thousand Force-insensitive soldiers, not including the several thousand recruits that each one was now training. Her ship itself housed sixteen thousand one hundred twenty-six humans, fourteen thousand eight hundred Bpfasshi, ten thousand Barabel, ten thousand Chistori, and ten thousand Annoo-dat Primes, most of this number security personnel. Additionally, there were nine hundred eighty-eight Iktotchi Force Healers, eight hundred Leyakian gunners, thirty-six Twi’leks, two dozen Jilruans, two dozen Zabraks, and her Epicanthix mentors, Nuav and Xuax. Among the Twi’leks was her longtime friend Aerlas’enuia, whom she had recently promoted to commander, and who had insisted on resuming her role as the youthful Admiral’s chief communications officer.

                “All set, Admiral?” queried Aerla, as N’Lola finally reached the bridge and took a seat in the admiral’s chair.

                “Yes,” she replied simply, and her helmsman, the Jilruan assassin Tenat Noore, nodded immediately in reply.

                “Activating engines, retracting landing gear,” Tenat said.

                “Take us up, Tenat,” she replied, and Tenat nodded, guiding the comparatively small star dreadnought up out of the atmosphere of Bpfassh and into the vacuum of space within a few short minutes. As they left the atmosphere, a familiar chime sounded, and Aerla chuckled and shook her head.

                “It didn’t take long for our arrival in space to be noticed, Admiral. Receiving a long-range hail from Admiral Tavares,” Aerla reported.

                “On-screen, Aerla,” she instructed, and the Twi’lek nodded. Immediately, Dellus’ features appeared before them, with a handsome smile. He had aged quite well, his true-black hair yet to show any traces of greying, his eyes as bright and warm as ever, and though he was nearing his mid-thirties, he still looked like he was in his mid-twenties. His family may have disowned him for his union with an Iridonian Zabrak, but the people who mattered to him hadn’t, and he had discovered he much preferred the family he’d made to the family into which he’d been born.

                “Admiral Vurkoth, you are looking as hale and vibrant as ever. The Senate asked me to inform you that your petition will be heard in two days on Coruscant, in consideration of your many years of service already rendered,” the handsome, aristocratic admiral informed, “On a more personal note, Taylen and I would like to thank you for attending our wedding. It meant a great deal to both of us, and he was delighted to meet you.”

                “I was honoured to be invited, Dellus. I was quite pleased when the Senate passed the law that permitted such marriages throughout all Republic territories; it may be what convinced my homeworld to become a part of the New Republic, we take such freedoms very seriously,” she said in answer, “I will arrive at Coruscant on time to address as scheduled. I am glad they are willing to hear my request.”

                “A decorated Admiral of the Galactic Civil War and a deep-cover asset for fourteen years including several years of her childhood?” said Dellus in response, “I would have filed a protest if they weren’t readily willing to hear whatever request you might have for them. You’ve certainly earned it.”

                “Thank you, Dellus. You are welcome to attend the hearing, if you would like.”

                “I will see you there, then, my Lady,” replied Dellus with a smile, “I do not know how long your expedition is likely to be, but I have something I would like to give you so that we may remain in communication no matter where you might find yourself in the years to come.” She nodded in answer; she would add it to her Black Sun communicator, and the Ven-Shimu communicator, which would allow her to continue to fulfill her obligations as a part of the Ven-Shimu Command Council.

                “I will gladly take it with me,” she replied, “Farewell, Admiral. I will see you in the Coruscant Senate Hall.”

                When she arrived on Coruscant, she piloted her Aka’jor fighter-shuttle to the landing pad nearest to the Senate and disembarked, leaving it in the care of the droids tasked with such duties. She proceeded immediately to the hall, accepting the communicator that Dellus had brought for her as she reached him, slipping it into a pocket on the interior of her leather jacket. A few minutes later, she was signalled to enter the Senate Hall, wherein the full Senate had been gathered, though absent of Leia Organa Solo, who had left recently on other business. The business of legislation and governance, however, went on, and the Senate continued to tend to their responsibilities to the people of their various worlds of origin.

                “Lady N’Lola Vurkoth,” said one man, standing in the centre of the platform in the centre of the room, which soon rose more than two hundred feet into the air, and around which six hundred forty-seven senators were seated in a sphere. His words were equal parts greeting and heraldic announcement for the benefit of those who did not recognize her on sight, but who evidently recognized her name. It was nice to be recognized, and it certainly meant that her intended petition would be a bit easier if people knew who she was, if only by a reputation that had preceded her.

                “First, allow me to say, I believe on behalf of everyone here,” began the Human stateswoman, the nameplate of her seat indicating her to be Ala Cornin, representative of Galerian, “thank you for your twenty plus years of service thus far rendered to the New Republic. We should particularly like to acknowledge the fact that well above half that period was spent in deep-cover, embedded within the highest echelon of the Imperial Navy. We are all well aware, I think, of the instrumentality of the intel that you provided during the war.” The woman looked to be nearing the age of fifty years, with greying black hair in an elbow-length braid and green-hazel irises, set into a dark brown skin tone. The woman was of an impressive stature, standing six feet tall and two hundred pounds of toned, athletic physique, which suggested to N’Lola that she was by no means some wilting wallflower politician. She was dressed in a cornsilk-yellow silk shirt with a leather greatcoat of otter brown and matching breeches, accented by a black leather belt and a pair of ankle-high boots of the same, both having a nickel-plated buckle.

                “Similarly,” said Senator Fyg Boras, a Vor who was representative of the planet Vortex, “we would like also to thank you for bringing your homeworld into the New Republic, as well as the planets Chistor, Bpfassh, and Leyakia. You have done the Republic a great service in bringing more worlds into our union, strengthening the voice of those who dwell there, indeed, strengthening the voice of us all.” Fyg Boras was an iconic member of his species: six feet six and three-quarter inches in height with a wingspan of nine feet six and one-tenth inches, his skin was soft, hairless, and of a rubbery suppleness. His complexion was a rich, earthy shade of green speckles with white and grey spots that could have easily been missed from too great a distance, with solid black eyes.

                “However,” interjected another human, a man of some sixty-four years with whitening grey hair of ear-length alongside deep brown eyes and light complexion, “We should like to know more about this… Ven-Shimu Order, you call it, if you would not mind sharing information about the Republic’s newest military arm.” The man stood about five feet nine inches in height and one hundred sixty-five pounds of lean muscle; according to his nameplate, he was Molierre Cundertol, of Bakura.

                “The Ven-Shimu Order is not the Jedi Order, Senator Cundertol. The Ven-Shimu Order is not beholden to the Republic, nor are the soldiers of the Ven-Shimu Order answerable to the Republic: the Ven-Shimu Order is an ally of the Republic, but outside the Republic’s military order. Ours are the soldiers of the Light, who have dedicated themselves to the protection of those who are unable to protect themselves, to safeguard equality and fairness, freedom and justice, for all who would seek our assistance. For so long as the Republic remains dedicated to these same ideologies, the Republic may count on the military aid of the Ven-Shimu Order for as long as the Ven-Shimu Order exists. We are allies of the Republic and friends to the Jedi, but our path is not the path of the Jedi, and our path is not the path of the Republic’s military. However, this is not the topic I came to discuss today, and it is irrelevant to the petition I would make, as a citizen of the New Republic and as one who fought to overturn the tyrannical oppression of Palpatine’s Empire.” As Cundertol started to reply, however, the Vor Senator reclaimed his control over the floor and redirected it to the matter she had come to address.

                “Yes, I believe that your petition indicated a concern regarding the… Gholondreine, I believe it was?”

                “Yes, Senator Boras, that is correct. When Palpatine issued the Galactic Empire’s New Order, the people of the Gholondreine civilization resisted implementation of such an order, and were the first of the Galactic Republic’s brethren to suffer terrible mistreatment under the regime. Palpatine ordered the planet stripped of water, transforming it from an ocean planet to a desert world and making vagrant and destitute an entire species. The New Republic, now, has the opportunity to set right that wrong, to replenish the planet of Gholondreine-ß, and to reinstate the Gholondreine to their native homeworld.”

                “It is not a world of Humans,” Senator Cundertol observed, “Why should it be humankind’s problem?”

                “The Republic is comprised of more than simply Humans, Senator Cundertol,” reminded Senator Cornin.

                “More to the point,” N’Lola continued, “It is incumbent upon the Republic to take seriously the responsibility to replenish a world and a civilization that suffered greatly for its commitment to the Republic’s earlier incarnation.”

                “I would hate to think the New Republic should take the tone of failure to reward loyalty, Senator Cundertol,” added Senator Cornin, “Surely if Bakura had suffered under the Empire’s oppressive regime in some manner that was particularly devastating and severe, you would want Bakura restored.”

                “Of course, but I would not ask for help of the Gholondreine, or the Barabel, or the Gran, in such a task,” the Bakuran Senator answered obstinately.

                “I am sure that the people of Alderaan would have welcomed the assistance of the Gholondreine, the Barabel, and the Gran, all, if it would have saved their homeworld from the Emperor’s weapon,” replied Senator Cornin firmly, “Your tone and your words are unpleasantly reminiscent of the rhetoric we heard from Palpatine during the height of his Empire. I think we have heard enough to make a decision on the matter of replenishing the planet of Gholondreine-ß and restoring it to its’ indigenous inhabitants. I move that the matter be put to immediate vote.”

                “Motion seconded,” added Senator Fyg Boras, as a few additional Senators rose their hands to signal assent that would overpower any protest from the Bakuran Senator. It was, within moments, a motion passed and agreed that aid should be rendered and a freight fleet assembled the objections of Molierre Cundertol notwithstanding.

                “Now, to the matter of your planned expedition into the Unknown Regions,” proceeded Senator Fyg Boras, “I would like, and I believe I am not alone in this sentiment, some manner in which the Republic could maintain some level of contact with the leader of our newest military ally.” His words were meant with many assenting nods from all around the room, perhaps not more than one in four, but still a significant number.

                “Of course, and a few such methods will be provided, for the security that such redundancies provide, though I do have my own security concerns, as well.”

                “I am sure that there is no element of your security concerns with which either the Republic or any reasonable representative therein, would have quandary. I am gratified to hear that you have some measures planned to allow for continued communication between the Republic and the Ven-Shimu Order’s leadership,” Senator Boras replied, “If I may ask of you, some elaboration would be greatly appreciated.”

                “The Commandant of each Fortress of the Ven-Shimu Order in known space will have a communicator that permits communication with me. Additionally, the Ven-Shimu Command Council will retain similar communicators to ensure myself and both councilmembers accompanying me on this expedition, can be reached and included in any decisions requiring the Council’s attention,” N’Lola replied informatively, “Moreover, Admiral Tavares of the Republic’s Navy has provided me with a communicator which will permit me to remain in contact with him. If the Galactic Assembly should have some trouble reaching out for counsel, the Admiral would no doubt be quite pleased to serve as temporary connection between us to allow messages to be delivered in either direction. Lastly, I plan to request a Jedi Ambassador to take residence aboard my vessel for the duration of the expedition; I am certain the Jedi will have their own means to remain in contact with any Ambassador they grant, should the request be granted.” Even the most skeptical members of the Senate, Molierre Cundertol notwithstanding, were mollified by the presence of at least eight avenues that they would have to contact her, one of which in the Republic’s Admiralty and another a Jedi.

                “Your commitment to remaining reachable to the Galactic Senate is admirable and appreciated. The Republic wishes you the best of fortunes in your expedition, whatever it is you are looking for,” said Senator Cornin in response, preempting Senator Cundertol’s attempt to make some manner of response. From her expression at that moment, the stateswoman from Galeria looked certain Cundertol’s intended response would be boorish and ill-mannered at best.

               “Speaking thus,” Senator Cundertol interjected, never one to be usurped or disrupted, “I would like to state for the record that I must regard your expedition with suspicion. Your refusal to inform us of the excursion’s purpose, or share with us the stellar cartography that your expedition will doubtless produce, strikes me as a matter of a shady and questionable motivation.” One eyebrow rose in answer, though one of the Senator’s colleagues opted to respond to Molierre’s antagonism toward her, his attitude one to which the newly vocal statesman seemed quite opposed.

                “Senator Cundertol, the Lady has already clearly stated that the Ven-Shimu Order is not answerable to the Republic, as they are to be our allies but outside of our own military command structure. I see no reason that the Lady should be impressed upon to reveal the secrets of the Ven-Shimu Order,” antipathized the man, whose nameplate indicated him as being Senator Chelch Dravvad, representing Corellia, “we do not even require such subservience from the Jedi Order. The Jedi Order has a far more extensive history of being more directly in the service of the Republic, and we do not attempt to preclude them having their own secrets. For my part, I am satisfied by her commitment to enhancing the Republic’s security, in consideration of her decorated record of contribution in the war against Palpatine’s autocratic Empire.” A man of six feet in height and two hundred fourteen pounds, Senator Dravvad was an impressive figure, and at roughly forty-six years of age with stark black hair and an olive complexion, he had a youthful appearance. Dark green irises, full of fire and passion, remained firmly focused on Senator Cundertol across the breadth between them, with the two seats being about one hundred and forty-eight degrees apart, with Chelch’s seat four rows nearer to the centre.

                At that moment, the Calibop Senator, marked by his nameplate as Ponc Gavrisom of Calib, rose to his feet, pale golden-yellow feathers shifting as he did. Dressed in a sleeveless black leather vest and a dark brown cotton shirt, with pants of matching dark brown cotton with a black leather belt, he stood six feet one and a quarter inches in height and one hundred eighty-five pounds. Her personal experience with his species was insufficient for her to estimate his age, but she concluded from his presence that he was what his people considered at least decently well into adulthood.

                “I move that this conversation be closed, as no good can come of such arguments. The Lady of the Ven-Shimu Order can neither be impressed upon nor commanded to share the secrets of her Order, and neither should she be. It may be the opinion of some here that it is regrettable we will not have all information we might possibly desire, but I believe it is fair and just for her to maintain whatever level of secrecy she deems necessary to protect her people from harm,” said Senator Gavrisom.

                “Motion seconded,” supplied Senators Cornin and Dravvad, in near-unison.

                “Motion has passed. The Lady of the Ven-Shimu Order is excused, with the Senate’s appreciation for her forthcoming providence of answers and the respect of the Vors for her compassionate petition on behalf of the Gholondreine,” said Senator Boras, moving quickly to switch to the next topic.

                “Thank you, as well, Senators,” N’Lola replied, turning toward the door and leaping off the podium even as it started toward the ground, soliciting a faint widening of the eyes of all who were present. For a distance of well over one hundred feet, she swept gracefully downward, only to land as lightly as if she had simply stepped off a two-foot-tall metal box. Then, she strode smoothly out of the chamber, allowing the Senate to return to their business after their period of staring at her exit had concluded. As she stepped out, she was immediately approached by a massive Whiphid Jedi, who stood all of eight feet six and a third inches in height and three hundred fifteen pounds in weight. Covered in hair of well-maintained grey-white, much longer on his scalp than the rest of his body, he looked down his muzzle toward her, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and ankle-length breeches of zinnwaldite-brown wool. He carried a lightsaber at one hip, and had an impressive physique overall, though the Force in him was as tranquil as any she had sensed in her lifetime thus far.

                “I am K’Kruhk, a member of the High Council of the New Jedi Order; I heard that you would like a Jedi to accompany you on your expedition, and I have questions to your needs in such a regard. The Order is quite agreeable to such a request, though we must obviously have clearer information from you on the matter,” said the Whiphid Jedi, introducing himself before getting to the point promptly.

                “As a friend of the Jedi Order, I wish to include the Order in the expedition, and wish also for the Jedi Order to benefit from this excursion. My only precondition is continuance of secrecy and the maintenance of clandestineness in this matter,” she replied, “not only as it relates to our precise location at any given moment, but also as it applies to the maps we develop on the path. Continuous contact between this person and the Jedi High Council is important, but through a medium that ensures the signal cannot be tracked at any point along the course of the transmission.”

                “I see,” he replied, his deep voice thoughtful, “You show much wisdom for your youth, young one. The Jedi suffered greatly for a certain lack of secrecy, for the fact that it was known where to locate our every bastion and how. It is good that you intend to not only learn from our mistake and see that it does not happen to your order, but also to ensure that we learn from our own mistake, and perhaps, can avoid the risk of it occurring at some point in the future.” Here he paused, thoughtful in his countenance as he looked to one side, while waiting for several persons to pass who were walking in the corridor, silencing their conversation to prevent stoolpigeons from eavesdropping. Once he was certain of their privacy having been restored, he nodded as if he had finished contemplating the answer to some deep philosophical inquiry that she might have made.

                “I think that we should assign to your vessel Master Waldo Mellison, he is the finest of the Jedi Ambassadors currently in the Order and having earned his title. He will be accompanied by his padawan, of course, a fellow human named Norman Maenner, a dedicated young man who shows much potential and strength in the Force,” said K’Kruhk, as he continued, “They will serve our common goals well, I believe.” At this, N’Lola nodded and offered a smile for the impressive Whiphid, whom she could sense had survived far more challenges than she had yet imagined facing.

                “I shall look forward to meeting them, Master K’Kruhk,” she replied respectfully, and his long mouth curled in the faint hint of a smile.

                “I shall speak well of our meeting, myself, Lady Vurkoth,” he replied with mutual respect. Her contributions were not lost on him, and nor was the potency of the Light Side of the Force that he could sense residing inside of her.

                “You have a strong spirit and a good heart,” he continued, “It is excellent to find such integrity in combination with cleverness and wisdom. Wisdom and cleverness can become foul and wicked when not tempered by compassion and commitment to the wellness of more than just oneself. You do not walk the path of the Jedi, but your Light is not easily missed.” At that, he bowed his head and N’Lola reciprocated the motion, following which he turned and walked away as simply as that. Similarly, N’Lola turned and walked in the opposite direction, until she returned to her shuttle and thereafter her ship, where she took the time to meditate while awaiting the arrival of the Jedi shuttle.

                On their approach, N’Lola moved to the hangar to await their arrival, lifting one eyebrow as the Jedi’s DPx Explorer-class swept smoothly up into the hangar bay and landed. Twelve metres wide and four metres from the front to the back, it was a diminutive vessel, armed with two blaster cannons, which would’ve been about the equivalent of a trooper’s heavy blaster rifle. In the right hands, it could probably have held its’ own against other starfighters, but it would never do much damage to something like a frigate or a corvette. As she waited, two human figures walked first down the ramp at the back of the shuttle and then around to meet her, one an adult and the other several years from it.

                The adult was a man with a rich olive complexion and chin-length hair of true-black colour accented by irises of greenish-blue. He was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt of almond-coloured cotton with a pair of comfort-fitting pants similar fabric in a chamoisee colour that was matched by a hooded cotton cloak. His pants were of ankle-length while the cloak was calf-length, and his ensemble was rounded out by a zinnwaldite brown leather belt and ankle-high boots, each having burnished nickel buckles. On one hip, underneath the cloak, he wore a deactivated lightsaber hilt, which made his status as a member of the Jedi Order even more obvious than his outfit already had. Standing five feet nine inches tall and what she assumed from his build to be roughly one hundred sixty pounds, he was a man that was likely around thirty-nine years old. His padawan, by comparison, looked to be about twelve years old and stood around four feet ten inches and probably around one hundred pounds of healthy, well-toned youth. The young man was attired in a manner identical to his Master’s, but where his Master was armed with a lightsaber, the padawan himself was clearly not yet ready for that part of his training.

                “Master Waldo Mellison,” she greeted with a courteous bow of her head, “a pleasure to meet you, and your padawan.” He bowed his head in response, and belatedly, his padawan mirrored the movement, bowing with perhaps a little more flair and expressiveness than his Master had. He quickly straightened, as his Master cleared his throat, to resume standing erect and waiting patiently for his Master to indicate what was to come next.

                “A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Admiral N’Lola Vurkoth; your reputation precedes you, and I look forward to the wonders of this voyage. I feel as if I shall have abundant time to meditate and train my padawan,” the Jedi Ambassador replied with polite warmth, “I hope you will not mind our questions, though, with regards to the Ven-Shimu Order. The Order is quite curious to know more about our newest allies.”

                “Quite understandably,” N’Lola replied, “And I will…” Abruptly, she was cut off by a transmission coming from the bridge, and Aerla’s voice cut in.

                “Admiral Vurkoth, we are receiving a distress signal,” a long pause during which N’Lola remained patiently waiting, “from the planet Sarkhai. They inform us they are under assault and require immediate military intervention.”

                “Apologies, Ambassador Mellison, Padawan Maenner, I am needed on the bridge. Lieutenant, please escort our friends to their chambers, and if they should have any special requirements regarding those quarters, see that those needs are accommodated,” she said, turning to instruct one of her officers. Then, she turned back toward the Jedi and his padawan, bowing her head as a sign of respect before she concluded her current conversation with them.

                “If you will excuse me, Master Mellison,” she said, and he nodded immediately.

                “Of course, Admiral, we may continue our conversation at a more convenient interval,” he answered. N’Lola nodded and turned, walking swiftly out of the hangar bay and ascending to the ship’s bridge. As N’Lola took her seat in the admiral’s chair, Aerla launched immediately into a more informative explanation of the situation on Sarkhai.

                “King Savar sends word that his throne is threatened by a Sith Lord calling himself Darth Radox. Radox has managed to infiltrate the planet’s defense matrix through subterfuge, aligning himself with a splinter-sect choosing to align themselves with the Imperial Remnant. He has requested the aid of the Ven-Shimu Order in the elimination of this threat, and has promised a considerable reward should the mission meet with success. He has transmitted the planet’s precise location in I-15, one of the freestanding subsectors, near the grid border between I-15 and H-15,” Aerla explained. At the explanation, N’Lola nodded and then turned her attention toward her Jilruan helmsman-assassin, who was waiting patiently for her instructions. He knew what her orders were going to be, but as was the case with many assassins, he was patient enough to wait for instruction.

                “Helm, set a course for the planet Sarkhai, optimal velocity,” she instructed, and Tenat Noore nodded at once. A few short seconds later, the hyperdrive engines activated and the ship leapt into hyperspace, sweeping toward their newest destination, where the planet’s royal family was imperiled and in search of aid. A Sith Lord was no small threat and as infrequently as the Sarkhai themselves exhibited Force sensitivity, it was nothing they knew how to deal with.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ongoing story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                The planet Sarkhai, itself, was a beautiful world of serene forests and tranquil woodland paths, roughly fifteen hundred kilometres greater in diameter than Alderaan once was. Roughly one hundred forty-nine million kilometres distant from the star it orbited, the planet was of a temperate clime that was slightly on the warmer side. As her warship approached the planet, she nodded to Aerla and initiated a hail to the planet, which was soon answered by a male from the planet with white skin and a dark powder blue face-paint that looked as if it were of the permanent variety.

                “Welcome to the Sarkhai system… Admiral Vurkoth! Apologies, I am Tanis Llon, emissary of King Savar, we had not been expecting the leader of the Ven-Shimu Order to personally answer our call for assistance,” said the emissary, a man who looked to her to be about forty-six, though she couldn’t tell his height or weight based on a face and a pair of shoulders. He looked as if he was in exceptional good health, however, which spoke well of nutrition on the planet Sarkhai, at least in her opinion.

                “I have been instructed,” continued Tanis, “to extend our sincerest thanks for the Ven-Shimu Order deciding to come in answer to our request for assistance. We found ourselves in need of a strong military force familiar with engaging enemies of a Force-sensitive nature.”

                “The Ven-Shimu Order takes all requests for assistance against Sith uprisings with extreme seriousness, and the great gravity of your situation demanded immediate aid. Even though the Ven-Shimu Order is young, and we are still in the process of attaining our balance, it will be our honour to render the best assistance we are able to muster on behalf of Sarkhai and her people,” said N’Lola in answer.

                “Our planetary defenses have been relinquished in a sector large enough for your ship to pass through safely,” replied Tanis with a nod of understanding, “Transmitting coordinates now, Admiral.” Less than an hour later, the ship came to rest on one of the largest expanses of level meadow at Sarkhai’s Duskan spaceport, where a delegation soon approached. As they approached, the disembarkation ramp lowered underneath the ship, between the eight enormous landing beams, each of which ended in a monumental square support that was one hundred metres on each side. The beams, themselves, were nearly ten metres thick, and one hundred metres long, producing a spacious gap between the ventral plate of the ship and the ground it landed on. Even as the welcoming party arrived, the royal emissary with an escort of twelve of what could only have been royal guardsmen, N’Lola walked down the disembarkation ramp, herself accompanied by three Iktotchi and eight Zabraks. Each was armed identically to herself, though for the Zabraks, they had replaced lightsabers with phrik-alloy vibroswords, having the same arrangement as her own: two tonfa-style and one long-handled.

                “My Lady, the Ven-Shimu Order makes an impressive entrance,” said Tanis as he came to stand in front of her, about two metres distanced, and bowed respectfully. He had a ponytail of shoulder-length white hair, lips of a sort of dark pastel grey hue, and an impressive stature at six feet even and two hundred pounds of well-corded musculature. Tanis wore a shirt of ivory-coloured cotton and dark blue leather breeches of ankle-length, with a dark blue greatcoat of soft leather that was knee-length. This ensemble was accented by a black leather belt around his waist with a nickel buckle, and ankle-high boots of the same nickel-buckled black leather style. He was himself unarmed, though each royal guard who accompanied him was armed with a heavy blaster rifle and a heavy blaster pistol strapped to one hip, which she found to be a light but admirable level of armament.

                “The Royal Guard of Sarkhai makes an admirable arrival, as well,” she replied, “Please, lead the way.”

                “As the Lady commands,” said Tanis in answer, “I lament that the King will not be able to come today, but the presence of Darth Radox and his attempts to claim our world for himself has resulted in considerable unrest in the city of Galrost. King Savar was compelled to travel to the city personally to assure the people steps were being taken, and an experienced military force had already been summoned to quell the attempted Sith invasion.” As he spoke, the royal emissary led the path toward the palace of Duskan, the current capital city of the planetary monarchy.

                “Your King is a wise and noble ruler, to take so personal an interest in the condition of his people,” observed N’Lola in response, “I do not mind that I may not meet the King during my visit.”

                “Thank you, Admiral. I am grateful you understand the situation here so readily,” replied Tanis graciously, as they approached the impressive structure of the palace.

                The palace, itself, sprawled across four acres of land, constructed of massive stone blocks with great pillars, rising thirty metres into the air with six floors. It was at the end of a long boulevard through the heart of Duskan, with beautifully constructed buildings of wood and stone throughout the city. Indeed, all of Duskan was of an outstanding loveliness to look at, speaking architecturally at least, and people marvelled a bit at outsiders, as none had ever seen a Bpfassh, Iktotchi, or Zabrak, in their lifetimes. As they entered the palace itself, Tanis remained on the lowest floor in the structure, leading them to what was quickly evident as a military wing occupied by the royal guard. The guardsmen wore striking uniforms of white and dark blue, matching the combination of their own complexion and face painting. Finally, they walked into what was obvious to N’Lola as a war-room, having seen several of their like previously, and having one aboard the Explorer, as well. Here waited a man slightly shorter than Tanis but slightly heavier in muscle mass, older and more clearly of military background, a career soldier.

                “My Lady Vurkoth, this is General Ephraim Trott, chief commander of the military and personal commandant of the Royal Guard,” said the emissary as he crossed to stand between them, “General, this is her N’Lola Vurkoth, the foundress and… my Lady, what is your title?”

                “Lady Marshal,” N’Lola supplied.

                “Foundress and Lady Marshal of the Ven-Shimu Order,” concluded Tanis, and Ephraim blinked then nodded, moving forward to greet her more personably than prior.

                “I had heard that the foundress of the Ven-Shimu Order was a beautiful woman of misleading youthfulness, although I must confess I did not expect to meet you in person, nor for you to be quite so young in appearance,” said Ephraim, “It is an honour to make your acquaintance.”

                “Likewise, General, it is an honour to meet the premier officer of the royal military forces, and you look quite hale and fit, yourself,” she replied graciously, and he smiled.

                “I am sixty-eight years of age, Lady Marshal,” he replied informatively, which put him at roughly twice her age, “Alas, my species ages far more briskly than yours. Perhaps, someday, you might tell my great, great, great, great grandchildren, that their forebear was a man you knew, and possibly, thought well of.”

                “That may be a distinct possibility, General,” N’Lola admitted, “For now, however, let us the matter of where this Darth Radox has made his stronghold, and what is known of him.”

                “Of course, my Lady,” he said, returning to the great war-table in the centre of the room, activating it before then touching a few points on the touchscreen control console. In response, a three-dimensional holo-image appeared, in the shape of a broad, fortified area over an underlying grid, spreading twenty squares long and sixteen squares wide. The walls themselves looked high enough, curving smoothly at the edges to prevent angular corners, maximizing the defensive value of the parapets, in a way.

                “This is Fort Mazz, formerly an archaic history museum; daily tours for schoolchildren, collegians studying archaeology, architecture, history military or otherwise. The insurrectionists aligning with the Imperial Remnant took the fortress by force in the night, likely to minimize the difficulty associated with conquest by minimizing the number of people they would need to eliminate. Killed were three hundred civilian guard personnel under the employ of the Royal Institute for Historical and Archaeological Preservation, lightly armed. We must presume them deceased, under the circumstances, though we have yet to recover any bodies, the fortress remaining occupied,” General Trott said at length, “The fortress retains military defense shield generators, preventing any attempt at aerial strikes. However, the shield generators do not prevent the compound from a terrestrial military assault; they have no defensive emplacement, which allows armoured vehicles to be rendered functionally nonessential. The King has authorized the use of any level of force you may deem necessary to reclaim Fort Mazz and eliminate the Sith Lord and his underlings.”

               “Excellent information General,” N’Lola nodded, “Now, what of this Sith Lord, Darth Radox?” In response, the General touched a few more items on the control console’s touchscreen. Instantly, the image of the fortress faded, and the image of the Sith Lord, Darth Radox, appeared in its’ place, standing upright, his hands clasped behind him.

                “Darth Radox, a Rattataki. He has chosen to forsake the typical metallic ornamentations worn by his people, and has likewise abandoned their penchant for black tattooing. As you can clearly see, he has instead opted to employ facial and body painting in an electric crimson colour, in a style similar to some of the face painting we use ourselves,” continued General Trott, “I don’t think he realized it, but during his communication, we were able to scan his armour, what there is of it. It is of a metal called ultrachrome, resistant but not impervious to blaster bolts and lightsaber blades, woven into a thick, multilayered mesh; we believe his apprentices are armoured similarly.”

                “Do you know how many insurrectionists, or how many apprentices?”

                “Long-range sensors would indicate sixty-one sets of ultrachrome armouring, suggesting sixty apprentices, as we know even the insurrectionist officers are not armoured in such. As for the number of insurrectionists, our scans indicate there are four hundred and one Rattataki, and seven hundred Sarkhai, in the fortress,” the General answered.

                “I see. This will require an assault of considerable magnitude; glad the King granted me discretionary leeway here,” N’Lola replied thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes intently on the image of the Rattataki Sith Lord, “I will need to return to my ship to plan and prepare for the assault.” In answer, the General nodded his understanding before he made any verbal response.

                “Of course, Lady Marshal, naturally,” said General Trott, without much in the way of hesitation. As a career soldier and a lifelong officer, he was more familiar than most with the intricacies of the command structure and a need to plan an assault, regardless what they said about the best-laid plans. The fact that things rarely went according to the plan, didn’t mean it wasn’t still wise to have a plan: those who went in without a plan, oftentimes failed to come back out, unless it was in a box.

                For her part, N’Lola excused herself and then returned to her ship, whereon Ambassador Mellison requested permission to attend the mission briefing.

                “As a means of better understanding the Ven-Shimu methodology,” he explained, “I would also like to ask, should it be at all practicable, that my padawan and I be permitted to accompany you in this mission. My padawan is moderately skilled with a lightsaber, and I am more than adequate in the matter myself.” As he made his case, N’Lola considered it for a moment, before shaking her head.

                “I do not take moderately skilled or more than adequate into battle, Ambassador. You and your padawan are welcome to accompany Raid Team One, conditional to two specifications,” she answered, “First requirement: both of you are to remain behind the combat line and observe. Second requirement: both of you are to consider yourselves as under my command for the duration of the mission until all objectives have been accomplished. You are to follow my instructions without hesitation and without argument.” The padawan’s eyes widened a bit at the austerity of her tone, and the firmness of her assertion of authority over a member of the Jedi Order.

                “Understood,” replied the Jedi Ambassador tranquilly, “It is your mission, ah… apologies, my Lady, but if I may ask, what is your title of rank?”

                “Lady Marshal,” she supplied with courteous warmth.

                “It is your mission, Lady Marshal, and you must make command decisions that are militarily wise,” finished Master Mellison, in a tone of comfortable assent that further surprised his padawan, to whom he looked following one brief moment of silence, “We are here as the Ven-Shimu Order’s invited guests, Norman. Indeed, we are here at the specific request of the Lady Marshal, and it is her prerogative to regulate as she sees fit our potential participation, or the lack thereof.”

                “Of course, Master, but it feels as if she does not hold your skill with a lightsaber, or the training you provide to me, in high enough regard,” responded the young padawan truthfully, at which N’Lola offered a warm half-smile.

                “There is no emotion, there is peace,” the Jedi Master reminded his padawan, “Do not let your heart govern your mind or your thoughts. You must remember to exercise self-control, and to see all things with an objective eye. I have no doubt that by comparison to the Lady Marshal, who has trained extensively with her weapons and who has survived only because of that skill, I am indeed likely a neophyte at best. There is no shame in this fact: my skills lie elsewhere, and that is why I am an ambassador, and she is a warrior.”

                “I wouldn’t mind testing your definition of more than adequate sometime, Master Mellison, but for now, that is a luxury we haven’t the time for. Presently, a Sith Lord on the planet is attempting to usurp control over it from the royal family, and align it with the Imperial Remnant.”

                “What’s the plan?” queried Nuav, as he and his twin stood with her at the war table, examining the layout of the fortress that General Trott had transmitted up to them for precisely this purpose.

                “I will lead Raid Team One personally. I will take Naith Ward, Sarden Taul, and Votan Jaa, along with Kale Hann, Dane Samson, Emily Ro, Morris Tiel, Timot Zurr, K’Lara Shauren, Tz’Lena Manth, and Kestus M’Karlu. Raid Team Two will be under your command, Nuav, and Xuax will command Raid Team Three. Raid Team Four will be commanded by Tenat Noore, Raid Team Five will be commanded by Lucian Marr, Raid Team Six will be commanded by Ella Tann, and Raid Team Seven will be under the authority of Terla Marcu. Raid Teams Eight, Nine, and Ten, are to be captained by Janz Parth, Seamus Cross, and Alanthia Vonth, respectively,” N’Lola began, to which both the Jedi Master’s eyes and those of his padawan widened a bit. She concluded that it surprised them that she intended to make an attack from ten directions, though as she mentioned each team, she made a clear indication of the trajectory of their assault path into the fortress.

                “Egress Team One will be led by Aerlas’enuia, Egress Team Two will be led by Zivvac, Egress Team Three by Vindac, and Egress Team Four by Ketar Maire. Egress Teams Five, Six, and Seven, respectively, will be under the authority of Ulic Thrax, Talann Zarc, and Steve Wallace. The final three Egress Teams, numerically, will be captained by Votrik Lantz, Kava Hier, and Cecil Hueller,” she continued, then concluded, “Each team leader is responsible for selection of their respective teams, and will report to me when the team is set. Each Raid Team is to be twelve members with three Force-Healers and each Egress Team is to be twenty-four members with six Force-Healers.”

                “You have that many healing-trained Force-sensitives available to you, my Lady?” asked Waldo, curiously.

                “Every Force-sensitive in the Ven-Shimu is trained extensively in using the Force to Heal,” N’Lola answered, a fact that clearly shocked both Master and padawan, alike. She wondered if that meant that the Jedi Order did not do the same, or if it simply meant they had not expected the Ven-Shimu to put such premium importance on the Healing powers available through the Force.

                “There are nine hundred eighty-eight Iktotchi Force-Healers aboard the Explorer, Master Mellison, and some Force Healers who are not of the Iktotchi, such as myself,” she continued, and he nodded.

                “Fascinating and erudite, my Lady,” praised Master Mellison, approvingly.

                “Now, it is time that we prepare for battle,” N’Lola said, and the rest of her summoned officers dispersed all but immediately, to requisition the teams that they wished for themselves, “It will be some while before all teams are prepared, Master Mellison. You may retire for rest if you wish. The battle will not be fought today, or tomorrow. Time must be spent in proper preparation, to ensure maximum performance quality.”

                “Understood, Lady Marshal Vurkoth, thank you for allowing us to observe your war council,” the Jedi Master replied, before guiding his padawan out of the chamber ahead of him. Over the next few hours, she was visited briefly by the both Nuav and Xuax, then by the Jilruans Tenat Noore and Terla Marcu, and then by Aerlas’enuia and longtime Barabel friends Zivvac, Vindac, and Ketar Maire. Before the night’s end, the Zabraks Lucian Marr, Janz Parth, Kava Hier, and Alanthia Vonth had visited her, as well as the Chistor male Ulic Thrax and the Chistor female Talann Zarc. It was not until the next morning that the Iktotchi Ella Tann and Votrik Lantz informed her of their teams’ readiness, but by the time midday arrived, the Humans Cecil Hueller, Steve Wallace, and Seamus Cross had also reported in. On the morning of the following day, Master Mellison and his padawan joined the three hundred and sixty soldiers on the ground, quickly approaching N’Lola herself.

                As the pair of Jedi approached, N’Lola turned toward them and nodded her greeting, attired as ever for battle, accompanied by a diverse selection of personnel.

                “Good morning, Master Mellison, padawan Maenner,” she greeted, “Allow me to introduce you to the rest of Raid Team One. This is Timot Zurr, and these are Votan Jaa, Naith Ward, and Sarden Taul.” At her introductions, the Jilruan Timot Zurr bowed his head respectfully, as did first a male Iktotchi, then a female, and then another male. Each wore a uniform that was identical in style to N’Lola’s own combat outfit, though their jackets did not have the decorative buttons, and they had durasteel in place of electrum. Similarly, each of the Iktotchi were armed with phrik-alloy lightsaber hilts of an identical assortment as her own: one long-handled lightsaber and two tonfa-style lightsabers. The Force-insensitive warriors carried vibroswords of the same style, and the same phrik-alloy forging.

                Timot Zurr had silver eyes, standing seven foot four inches two hundred ninety pounds in weight, the majority of his skin covered by dark green leather in a style that matched N’Lola’s, except in an alternative colour. Similarly outfitted, the three Iktotchi, four Humans, and three other Bpfasshi, made the clear image of an organized, militaristic unit. As Master Mellison and his padawan finished greeting those she had introduced, she proceeded to introduce first the Humans, and then her fellow Bpfasshi.

                “These are Kale Hann, Dane Samson, Emily Ro, and Morris Tiel,” she introduced, and each one bowed his, or in Emily’s case her, head, in response, “And these are K’Lara Shauren, Tz’Lena Manth, and Kestus M’Karlu.” The two Bpfassh women bowed their heads respectfully in greeting, as did the Bpfassh male, Kestus, though none of them had the visual appearance of one more than twenty years old in human terms.

                “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, it is an honour to be allowed to accompany you in your battle, today,” Master Mellison said politely, and N’Lola nodded.

                “Egress Teams, move out and take position,” she instructed, and immediately, half of all chosen captains and two-thirds of the collected soldiers smoothly transitioned from standing to moving. In a demonstration of their military precision, the units vanished in a cone of motion into the forest, crossing through to take position, and within less than an hour, Aerla’s voice came over the ear-mounted communicator.

                “Egress Team One, in position,” followed by similar declarations from the other Egress teams, until the last.

                “Egress Team Seven, in position,” reported Captain Steve Wallace, “Apologies for the delay, Lady Marshal.”

                “A complication, Captain?” queried N’Lola.

                “Negative, Lady Marshal. Encountered an unexpected ravine, it presented a slight challenge to get across.”

                “Understood, Captain,” N’Lola replied, “Raid Teams, move out.” Immediately, the remaining teams set into motion, circling in many cases to move around the fortress then looping back to come in behind the egress teams that had already secured phase-one positions. Quickly, the Jedi Master and his padawan broke into a run to keep pace with the precise military gait that N’Lola and Raid Team One set, until they reached the impressive twenty-metre walls that encircled the fortress. At ten separate locations, there were massive metal gates that rose the full twenty metres, while soldiers walked the walls, some of the seven hundred Sarkhai, each one armed with a heavy blaster rifle. Once every Raid Team had taken position, twenty metres behind their associated Egress Teams, N’Lola touched her ear-mounted communicator once more and issued the order that would launch the attack. Simultaneously, two hundred forty of her soldiers moved forward and cleared the walls with shots that demonstrated precise marksmanship and timing.

                “Acquire targets,” N’Lola commanded, “Fire in three… two… one… now!” Her orders a harsh whisper into the communicator, shots were fired simultaneously in a curve-cornered rectangle around the fortress, and all at once, every soldier on the wall was permanently silenced, each struck by multiple blaster-bolts.

                “Raid Teams, move forward; walk, don’t run,” N’Lola instructed, and then drew her long-handled lightsaber, activating it as she moved into a smooth, disciplined advance toward the massive metal gate. To each side of her and four metres behind her, each of the Iktotchi Force-Healers mirrored this action, while the Force-insensitive fighters in her group drew their long-handled vibroswords and blaster carbines. As they approached the gate, Aerla looked over her shoulder, then back toward the metal barrier that blocked the advance.

                “Switch to heat beam, clear the hinges.” As one, the members of Aerla’s Egress Team One switched blaster carbines to their heat beam setting, and three beams of bright blue converged on each of the gate’s six stabilizer points where it connected to the stone wall. As they approached, N’Lola and the three Force-sensitive Iktotchi with her raised their free hands, and ushered a wave of Force that knocked the gate two metres backward. Then, it fell backward away from them, landing with a heavy metal thunk on the grass and dirt as the four of them drew their own blaster carbines. Immediately, the Egress Teams moved through the gate and took up a defensive position to fortify the gates themselves and hold the exfiltration points of the associated Raid Team. Blaster carbines thumped loudly as shots were fired, and enemy patrols were engaged and silenced while the Raid Teams moved forward in an inexorable and uniform advance, behind which the Jedi Master and his padawan followed.

                “Master, look,” whispered Norman Maenner, motioning toward the other Raid Teams they could see, from their positions, advancing with identical pace and uniform smoothness. The young man’s eyes were wide, more than a little awed by the demonstration; as he looked the Jedi Master’s eyebrows rose, as well. He did not know the exact reason they were walking instead of running, but when he sensed the spike of fear from the enemy’s soldiers nearest, he understood immediately: intimidation. Even as they approached, some of the ultrachrome-armoured Rattataki Sith apprentices raced up onto the castle’s outer parapets, converting their fear and anger into power.

                Deep blue lightning arced from the hands of an apprentice ahead and above her, and the dark violet blade of N’Lola’s lightsaber hummed in an arc. Lightning struck the blade, and her eyes flickered with the use of Tutaminis as she absorbed it, her other hand rising as she brought her blaster carbine up and fired. A loud thump, a dark violet pulse of blaster energy, and it slammed into the apprentice’s throat, scorching a hole clean through as it flung him backward from the parapet, slain instantly. The appearance of apprentices on the wall, launching attacks of Force Lightning on the advancing raid teams, delayed them only slightly, as the targeted Force-sensitives used Tutaminis and blocked the attack with their lightsabers. Even as they did, the Force-insensitive soldiers on each team opened fire on the Rattataki apprentices, uniformly flinging them from the wall and killing twenty of Darth Radox’s finest in seconds. Then, their inexorable advance resumed, and N’Lola holstered her blaster carbine as she approached one of the large double doors that provided access to the castle interior.

                As Raid Team One halted a dozen metres from the door, she lifted her free hand toward the door, and soldiers sheathed their swords and switched to their blaster carbines. A low hum of the Force filled the air as they dropped to one knee in preparation to fire, and then a sphere of Force launched out of her hand a metre in diameter with a resonant whoosh as it swept forward and slammed into the door. The hinges snapped and the double-doors flew a dozen metres inward before clapping heavily down on the stone floor, and the eleven members of her team fired instantly on those defenders who stood in the open, staring in shock. Their poor reaction time got them killed, as N’Lola brought up her hand once more, focusing on the two doors on each side of the hall, two at twenty metres and two at thirty metres. She concentrated, and released a wave of Force between the two doors with a loud hum, once again flinging doors free of their hinges. As soldiers raced out of the rooms in question, the other members of Raid Team One struck them at once with their blasters, killing them with an ease and smoothness that both Jedi and padawan found impressive. They felt the oneness of mind, the unity of cause, that was shared by N’Lola and those she had chosen to bring with her on this assault. The uniform calm they sensed from every member of the Ven-Shimu was something wholly unfamiliar from a military unit.

                For twenty minutes, they proceeded into the fortress, clearing every room they encountered and killing any enemy that stood in their path. Finally, they reached a covered central courtyard with elevators at the four corners, and N’Lola waited a moment until she heard reports communicator through her earpiece. It had a ceiling four levels up in height, with balconies surrounding it, though the fifth floor sat above that ceiling, in what must have been the fortress’ central chamber.

                “Raid Team Ten, west sextant secure,” came the voice of Alanthia Vonth, followed by reports that the eastern sextant was secured by Raid Team Eight, northwest and northeast sextants secured by Raid Teams Four and Six. The southeast and southwest sextants were soon reported secured, by Raid Teams Five and Nine, respectively, while Raid Team One was joined in the courtyard by Raid Teams Two, Three, and Seven.

                “Ascend the elevators, now,” N’Lola instructed, and the four remaining raid teams moved to the second floor, in which they spent more than an hour, ensuring it was clear and any other elevators were inoperative. Room by room, floor by floor, they cleared the fortress of the insurrectionist intruders, until they reached the top floor, and proceeded with the clearance until there was a single enemy remaining, in the centre chamber of the entire fortress, Darth Radox, himself. As they approached the doors, an entire team securing each door into the centre chamber, N’Lola blasted the north door from the hinges and announced her arrival, striding in alone.

                “Remain at the door,” she instructed as she looked over her shoulder at the Jedi Master and his padawan, the former of whom nodded.

                “As you command, my Lady,” he replied evenly, unbothered by the instruction as he had agreed that he and his padawan, alike, would observe her command structure respectfully. In the centre of the room, the six foot six inch Rattataki stood, chalk-white skin covered in electric crimson body paint and face paint in designs that were clearly of Sarkhai inspiration, clad in ultrachrome. His armour took the form of a multilayered mesh with a metallic silver glitter to it, a sleeveless shirt and thigh-length shorts that clearly showed off muscular thighs. This was accented by a circlet of ultrachrome with temple-guards and cheek-guards, horns on the top but no protection to the top of his head, itself, wrist-length gloves and calf-high boots. His shirt was formfitting, demonstrating the muscular physique of his chest almost as clearly as bare arms showed their own muscle mass, which was impressive. The Sith Lord who had chosen the name of Darth Radox could have been a handsome man under other circumstances, and was impeccably athletic, armed with two red-bladed lightsabers, already activated as she approached.

                “So, you are the leader of the Ven-Shimu Order. I have heard many stories of you, I was not impressed!” As he spoke, he launched forward in a lung, sweeping a slash with both blades toward her, though she blocked these with the blade of her long-handled lightsaber with one hand.

                “You must be Darth Radox,” N’Lola replied tranquilly, “I was expecting someone stronger.” His eyebrow-ridges knitted together with consternation, as she rolled her shoulders, then brought her free hand forward and struck with a wave of Force that threw him a dozen metres backward to land on his feet.

                “I am more than strong enough to defeat you, girl,” assured the Rattataki Dark-sider, who looked as if he was in his mid-forties, though his voice was considerably older than that, speaking further to his good health.

                “I had the privilege to sense the tremendous power of Darth Vader and Darth Sidious at the Battle of Endor. I could never have defeated Darth Vader, and Darth Vader could have never defeated Emperor Palpatine if those two had fought one another,” she assured him, “If you had even a fraction of the power in the Force of Anakin Skywalker, I would be impressed!” As she spoke, she leapt forward herself, bringing the blade of her long-handled lightsaber in a two-handed chop powerful enough that Radox was forced to block with an X of both of his own blades, feet sliding backward across the stone.

                “You dare to insult the magnificent Darth Radox, child? I am decades your senior, decades your superior in the Force! Allow me to show you the true power of the Dark Side!” He leapt backward, deactivating his lightsabers, and then sweeping his hands forward as his boots clacked firmly onto the stone floor. As he leapt backward, N’Lola deactivated her own lightsaber and holstered it, and as vibrant white lightning surged across the gap towards her, she brought her left hand up in response. Her left hand became a lightning rod, absorbing his electricity through Tutaminis, and he blinked with surprise before his features contorted with a surge of hate and fury. His lightning brightened and strengthened, but N’Lola continued to absorb the strike into the pool of her serenity, calm and unflustered by his fury and loathing. Soon, Radox poured even more power into his assault, empowered by his hate, his wrath, and a disbelief that her mastery of Tutaminis could overwhelm his mastery of Force Lightning. Finally, his attack abated, and Radox heaved for breath as he was forced to break off his assault for a moment to recover and claim his second wind.

                As soon as his attack stopped and he hunched slightly over to catch his breath, her right hand rose, and N’Lola released a counterassault. Brilliantly luminescent, verdant lightning surged from the palm of her hand and each of her fingertips, arcing across the distance to slam into his chest with enough strength and concentration to fling him through the air. He slammed into the corner a further twenty metres distant from her, before her lightning ceased and N’Lola let him drop to the floor a metre below him. As he dropped, he grabbed his lightsabers anew and activated them, and she drew and activated her own long-handled lightsaber once more. He leapt immediately toward her, sweeping across a distance of nearly thirty metres with his blades upraised, preparing for a double overhand chop. As he sliced through the air, she brought her right hand up and released a cannon-like blast of the Force, instantly stopping his movement forward and hurling him backward against the wall a second time. He slammed into the wall with a heavy thud and a grunt of irritation before he fell onto his feet, and charged toward her once more.

                “I will end you, and your impertinence, girl!” shouted the Rattataki, enraged, lashing out at her with one and then the other of his blades as he neared. A master of Soresu, she blocked as many as she dodged, slipping out of the way time after time, evading thrust and blocking slashes. When he attempted to slice twice, she deflected one and then used the force of impact and a touch of the Force to leap over him and drop down behind him, countering with a cleave of her own and forcing him onto the defensive. She gave ground and took ground, pressing him back, allowing herself to withdraw casually, without fear or frustration as she moved backward, without anger or agitation as she pushed him backward.

                “You only delay the inevitable, child! You die today!” declared the Sith Lord, pressing in on her once more, increasingly aggravated by her calmness, and stymied her confusing combination of the tactics of the Third and Fourth Forms. She could sense his annoyance and vexation climbing as someone decades his junior endured his assault while remaining utterly unbothered by his continued attempts. Even further, he was enraged when she countered, imposing with sufficient forward force that he had no choice except to withdraw, and his burgeoning wrath was starting to make an impact on his fighting. As he swept at her legs, N’Lola leapt into the air and rotated her body utterly, until her feet landed on the ceiling five metres above the floor, and stuck. He looked for her at floor level, then blinked as he looked up to discover her standing on the ceiling, and leapt back as she sliced at him with her long-handled lightsaber faster than he would’ve been able to block given his surprise. At the same moment, Master Mellison’s eyebrows rose, while his padawan blinked wide-eyed.

                “…when do I learn how to do that?” whispered the padawan to his Master, where his query went unanswered.

                “Tsch!” snarled Radox in response to her switched position, leaping toward her to make another slash with both blades simultaneously, though she evaded his attack simply. Her feet moved across the ceiling, remaining on it, even her hair in open defiance of gravity’s pull as it remained near her back, and she brought her blade across, blocking another slice attempting to reach her head with a loud hum. She twisted easily out of the path of the other blade, before spiraling her wrist and flinging one of his lightsabers out of his hands. Then, N’Lola seized it with the Force, her free hand using telekinesis to control the blade with the Force, and Radox leapt back in surprise, dodging the initial slash. His blade hummed against his other lightsaber’s blade, as he blocked a subsequent attack, the spectral hand that held his seized lightsaber taking a powerful offensive.

                His mastery of the Third Form did not rival her own, and on three occasions he was forced to use the Force to leap backwards fast enough and far enough to prevent the loss of an arm. Finally, he channeled his infuriation into a lightning strike with his free hand, and forced her to relinquish her control over one of his swords. As she absorbed the brief strike with Tutaminis, he yanked his lightsaber back to his hand with the Force, then used the Force to shield his grasp on each lightsaber to ensure that would not happen again. As he launched into a high-arc leap to slash at her, N’Lola released her connection to the ceiling and dropped like a stone, rotating in midair to land on her feet, bringing her own blade up as he came out of his arc. The tip of her dark violet blade slammed into his mesh-armoured stomach, holding him in the air too far from her to counterstrike, and she whirled about, flinging him across the room yet again, adding a Force Blast to hurl him to the wall. As he landed, her free hand moved up, drawing her blaster carbine, and as she activated it, she used the Force to switch it from blast mode to heat beam mode.

                As his eyes moved to the carbine and eyebrow ridges rose, she swept forward with a leaping overhand strike, forcing him to bring up both blades to defend. Even as he blocked with both blades, her blaster carbine lifted in front of him, and as she pulled the trigger, a beam of dark violet blaster energy erupted from the barrel and struck the plane of his ultrachrome mesh. She maintained the pressure, augmenting her physical strength with a massive amount of the Force to prevent him being able to move his blades away from their deflection without her blade striking his head and circlet. Meanwhile, the concentrated beam of heat at close range made his armour start to warm and then glow, causing his face to contort from anger to pain as the shirt became painfully hot. Finally, he channeled all of his pain and rage, using a wave of Force to push her back and allowing him to catch the heat beam with his blades until the power cell died. Even so, his armour was red-hot and his pain was so severe it had become the most potent emanation from him that any Force-sensitive in the area could feel. As he caught his breath, he used the Force to release a pulse out of his skin that flung the pieces of the near-melting ultrachrome away from him.

                His skin had a scorched pattern of burns that matched the pattern of the lowest layer of the ultrachrome mesh he had been wearing. As his rage carried him forward, launching at tremendous speed in her direction, N’Lola leapt a second time, rotating to land in a braced crouch on the ceiling as he whipped past beneath her, then dropped back onto the floor and whirled. Her turn was accompanied by a thrust, and when Radox turned and went to launch toward her once more, he impaled himself on the length of her lightsaber, passing through his navel and out just above the small of his back. His eyes widened as he stared at the blade puncturing his scorched flesh and severing his spine, and with a last gasp of rage and anguish, he attempted to cleave into her with both blades. Even as his arms moved, she dropped the carbine and released a powerful Force Blast that catapulted him across the room and slammed him against the far wall with a crunch of bone before he fell to the floor, dead. Then, she hovered the carbine back up into her hand before holstering it while deactivating her lightsaber, and taking a deep breath, using her serenity to refresh herself from that exhausting battle.

                “My Lady, your talent and cleverness are impressive,” said Master Mellison from the doorway, before giving a nudge to his padawan to break the awed stare, “I have never seen one use the ceiling in such a way, and it is clear to me you have mastered both the Third Form, and the Fourth.”

                “Thank you, Master Mellison,” N’Lola replied, then touched her earpiece, “Casualty report.” Over the next few minutes, she listened to reports of several dozen injured, though each team captain reported zero fatalities incurred.

                “Amazing,” said Master Mellison as the report ended audibly, “All through the entire battle, and none dead?” On their return, it was learned that the prime reason none had died was the smoothness of teamwork and the presence of multiple Force-sensitives on each team who were trained in the healing arts. It had allowed casualties to be healed more-or-less on the spot, allowing injured soldiers to return to the fight within minutes of injuries that might otherwise have been life-threateningly severe. Over the next few days, they met with the King and received a personal expression of his gratitude, as well as a considerable investment of Sarkhai themselves. Keeping with his promise of a worthwhile reward, the King permitted two thousand Sarkhai commandos to join the Ven-Shimu Order, as well as one thousand members of the royal engineering corps, who provided the ship with considerable upgrades to the defensive hardware.

                “A Fortress of the Ven-Shimu Order will be constructed, as well,” the King promised, “And when it is done, we shall send a communication to inform the Ven-Shimu Command Council that we are ready to receive a delegation to take possession of it.” It would be the sixth Ven-Shimu Fortress in known space, when it was completed, though it would undoubtedly take a few years to build. N’Lola observed it would be a few years before there would be another person ready to take on the responsibility of serving as Commandant of a Ven-Shimu Fortress, and thereby there was no particular rush to complete it with any urgency.

                Then, bidding farewell to their friends on Sarkhai, the ship rose from the atmosphere and soon departed the system, entering hyperspace in the direction of the planet Serenna. From there, they set out into the Unknown Regions, and the expedition began in earnest.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unedited sixteenth chapter in the story of N'Lola Vurkoth.

                As the Explorer passed beyond N’Lola’s previous search, into the part of uncharted space that would have been rightly considered the Expansion Region, days turned easily into weeks. It was not until the thirteenth day of the thirteenth year since the Battle of Yavin, that they entered a star system housing a habitable world, the fourth from its’ sun. Large and wreathed in a considerable atmosphere, with a surface of blue and lush yellow-green, it was dotted by centres of population that spoke to a planet that housed a resident civilization.

                “Planet is not documented by the Galactic Republic, Lady Marshal,” reported Tenat Noore from his post at the helm, “The planet has a diameter of fourteen thousand six hundred and ninety-seven kilometres. Planet is of arid climate, primary terrain appears to be savanna and other grassland, geological scanners indicate Grade 3 seismic and volcanic activity is common.”

                “We are receiving a hail from a small continent in the planet’s northern hemisphere,” added Aerla.

                “On-screen,” N’Lola replied, and Aerla nodded in answer to the instruction. Immediately, a pale, lime-green countenance appeared on the screen, with irises of a reddish violet colour and four plate-like horns on either side of the head in place of hair. A woman whose black eyebrows were more pronounced for the fact they were the only hair on her head at all, she looked at them intently and seemed startled by the diverse assortment of species on the bridge.

                “I am Nel Marellius. You have entered the Ruunoth system, and are approaching the planet Taph IV. What business do you have with the Taphari?”

                “I am N’Lola Vurkoth, Lady Marshal of the Ven-Shimu Order. We are travelers on a voyage of discovery to document for ourselves this region of space, which is unknown to our star-maps. My ship is the Explorer, and we are searching for a planet that is lush, verdant, and uninhabited,” N’Lola replied, “I had thought perhaps we might have a chance to encounter new civilizations, and enrich our own erudition and culture with the knowledge of other cultures.”

                “You are curious about Taphar culture?” queried the woman, seeming surprised, “That is… an extraordinary reason to travel. The ordinary star-traverser who comes to visit us, has more commercial or conquistadorial thoughts. I must confess it is worrisome, your arrival in a vessel clearly designed and outfitted for war, and heavily populated, but perhaps the fact that you arrive in only a single vessel, should also be taken into consideration. Please assume high orbit and wait for further communication; our leaders will need to discuss this matter in some detail and depth. Is this acceptable?”

                “It will have to be, as that is the only option,” N’Lola replied with an assenting roll of her shoulders, “As this world is yours, I see no reason that we should be entitled to make landfall uninvited.” The woman smiled abruptly and warmly in response to the comment, as N’Lola nodded to Tenat Noore, and the Jilruan helmsman piloted the ship into the desired position easily. She seemed surprised that the person in charge of the ship would be so even-tempered and mellow, having such an unhurried interest in the planet. Once the ship had moved into the desired high orbit, Nel then nodded again.

                “Thank you. I will be sure to inform our leaders of your respect of our space and our planetary government.” A moment later, the woman’s face vanished as the communications channel was terminated and the screen went black once more, following which moment, N’Lola departed from the bridge. She had been warned it would be a matter of detail and depth, and that would no doubt mean quite some time of discussion, possibly as much as days, even, before they would receive any word whatsoever.

 

                The day following their arrival and taking the desired position relative to the fourth planet orbiting the star the locals identified as Ruunoth, Jedi Master Waldo Mellison and his padawan set out into the corridors for a training session. As they did, however, they sensed a presence of profound tranquility, and followed it until they came with a bit of surprise to the doors of the training hall they had initially intended to visit. N’Lola could sense their movements, indeed even sensed them sensing her as she meditated and centered herself, though they were like viewing something in the periphery of one’s awareness. The doors whirred open, and the Jedi Master and his padawan stepped inside the training hall, where six personnel were at the far end on one side practicing their marksmanship with firing two blaster pistols simultaneously. At the other end, two additional personnel were practicing their martial arts, honing their skills to be continuously readied for the battlefield.

                Waldo looked around, sensing the great calm but not from any of those eight individuals, but also seeing no other in the room. As he sought the source of the tranquility, he heard her voice and a sharp gasp of surprise from his padawan in near-immediate answer.

                “ _Shen-Tzaa Eren’lu… Shen-Tzaa Eren’lu…_ ” came the soft, breathy meditative mantra from somewhere both ahead of them and above them. As Waldo looked up, he blinked, eyebrows rising, as he located the source of the deep serenity that they had both sensed from across the ship. N’Lola sat on the ceiling, her legs crossed, with her palms on her knees in a resting position, eyes closed, even her hair defying gravity as it went up her back toward her hips and remained close to her body. As they looked at her, her eyes opened, though she was not looking at them, and her mind released her connection to the ceiling. Her body fell immediately away from the ceiling, though not rapidly: rather in controlled, nimble rotation that was slow and smooth, until her feet touched the floor as lightly as if she were stepping from one step of a staircase to the next.

                “… wow,” breathed the young padawan in amazement, “Master, when do I learn how to do that?” Waldo’s left eyebrow twitched briefly in answer, though he made no verbal response to his padawan’s inquiry.

                “That is a most impressive feat, my Lady,” praised Waldo in a respectful tone, “I had not thought that I would ever meet one who had mastered such a skill, though I knew the ability itself was possible. Our histories include many datacrons and holocrons that our scholars were able to preserve throughout the rise of Palpatine’s Galactic Empire; in them, there are mentions of several Jedi Masters during the age of the Old Republic who possessed such prowess. Yet those holocrons sadly make no mention of how to achieve such finesse, grace, and precision, in the manipulation of the Force, as that you have just demonstrated. Most who have tried have harmed themselves severely in the process.”

                “I assure you, Master Mellison, the investment was as much one of pain as it was of time, if not more of the former than the latter; I would be more than willing to teach both you and your padawan this technique. Albeit, I must warn that it took me seven years, two fractured ribs, and more cuts, bruises, and abrasions, than I can recall in number, to master it myself,” N’Lola replied. She sensed both relax a bit at the information, becoming now perhaps a bit more comfortable as they realized she was no miracle child who had simply woken up one day and decided ceilings were floors and floors were ceilings.

                “May I ask you something?” queried the padawan, his voice perhaps slightly bolder than normal.

                “Of course,” she replied coolly, his interest not the least bit worrisome to her.

                “What were those words you were chanting?”

                “Shen-Tzaa Eren’lu; they are Bpfassh words.”

                “Do they translate into Basic well?” asked Waldo, his curiosity ignited by an interest in languages and a total unfamiliarity with her native tongue.

                “Hm. Relatively, I think, yes,” she replied, “Shen-Tzaa translates as tranquility of spirit, more or less. Eren’lu translates as heart and mind, though with a particular context. In Bpfassh understanding, the heart and the brain are of course two separate organs. When one refers to the brain or the heart, one is referring to a biological organ, but when one refers to the heart and mind, Eren’lu, one is referring to the rational and emotional centres of the brain.”

                “So your meditative mantra, then, translates as ‘Tranquility of spirit, heart, and mind,’ if I understand you?”

                “Correct, Master Mellison,” N’Lola replied with a nod of confirmation.

                “Fascinating similarities,” the Jedi observed in response, “The Jedi Order, too, values such tranquility, though we do not use a meditative mantra. Our meditations are commonly of the quieter variety, focused on inner thinking. I suspect there is perhaps no harm, however, in the use of a reflective intonation; your observation of emotion, though, is intriguing.”

                “The Jedi Order focuses on remaining unemotional, calm. Rational thinking should dominate the making of any and all decisions,” Norman said, likely quoting from some Jedi scripture or some oration his Master had offered.

                “There is no harm in the acknowledgment of the existence of emotion, in one’s endeavour to discipline such sentiments, nor in the embrace of those emotions connected to the Light, such as mercy or love. One must simply be ever wary of letting those emotions cloud one’s reasoning or judgment, and must strive to keep those emotions pure,” N’Lola said in answer. The Jedi Master’s eyebrows lifted thoughtfully.

                “An intriguing perspective and not one the Jedi Order advocates. I must confess, however, that the serenity I sensed in you in your meditation rivalled that of any Jedi Master with whom I have ever meditated,” Waldo observed, his tone pensive and calm, “I wonder if I might impress upon you for some assistance in my practice. Your skill with a lightsaber is exceptional.”

                “You might indeed, but with training sabers, only.”

                “Of course,” replied Waldo casually, “Also, I would not mind to practice with you in the adaptation you were using against Radox throughout a considerable portion of your battle against him. It would be interesting, I think, and good practice in the event that any Sith Lord should develop a similar talent.”

                “I shall keep that in mind,” N’Lola answered, “For today, though, we shall practice in more traditional ways.” While she was answering, she proceeded over to the area with the practice sabers, selecting a long-handled training lightsaber as the padawan knelt meditatively to watch.

                “Lady Vurkoth, may I ask you something?” queried the padawan, as she returned to the training area while his Master was considering which style of training lightsaber he wanted to use.

                “Of course, young padawan,” she replied.

                “What is Ven-Shimu? I am not familiar with that term; I have never heard it before.”

                “It is a Bpfassh word that translates rather exceptionally well, though the definition is so lengthy that we use Ven-Shimu to circumvent such wordiness. Ven-Shimu refers to those persons who protect the weak and the innocent, those who enforce judicious and ethical laws, those who renounce and disregard unjust and dishonourable laws, those who free those who are unjustly imprisoned or enslaved. It also refers to those who heal and those who enlighten, and to those who create things that serve to bring warmth to the hearts and minds of others, and to make life better for all. However, Ven-Shimu is also a term that refers to one of considerable combat proficiency, and in this way, it could be used to refer to engineers, doctors, even schoolteachers. In the same way, not every skilled or talented soldier deserves the privilege of the descriptor that Ven-Shimu inherently represents.”

                “What is your homeworld like?”

                “Bpfassh is primarily a desert planet, regions we call _Ost-varamidu_ are the most common, though I was born in one of the _Zett-varamidu_ , myself.”

                “Do those words translate well into Basic?” asked Jedi Master Waldo Mellison, as he approached, carrying a single-handed lightsaber, which he had selected for this training session.

                “Roughly might be more accurate than well,” she replied as she turned to face him, activating her own long-handled training lightsaber in the process, “Ost-varamidu is essentially translated as grey regions or grey lands. This is what we call the deserts this because the desert sands are a light, greyish-white colour.”

                “Sort of like your complexion, so your species has a little bit of camouflage in the native environment?” the young padawan interjected curiously, to which N’Lola nodded shortly.

                “An astute observation, padawan,” she replied, “Yes, my species blends into the desert well. Zett-varamidu is roughly translated as green regions or green lands; lands where the ground is a rich and fertile loam, black or darkest brown, wherein nearly all food is grown. We value our natural environments, and have not chosen to exploit the potent terraforming technologies that could allow us to expand the Zett-varamidu to cover more of our world.”

                “Quiet now, padawan,” said the padawan’s Master, “We must now begin our practice session.” As he spoke, N’Lola transitioned her form into the traditional stance of the Third Form, her left leg back and right leg forward. Her left hand was drawn back, the lightsaber parallel to the ground alongside and ahead of her, with her right arm parallel to the ground and extended ahead of her, fingers upturned and palm outturned.

                “Ah, Soresu, with such an offense-minded lightsaber?” said Waldo in response, “Fascinating.” As he spoke, he adopted the traditional opening stance of Ataru, the Fourth Form, his knees bent and holding the grip of his training lightsaber with both hands. Then, he leapt upward, using the Force to propel himself upward as he leapt and then slow his descent just enough to make an overhand chop as he came down. As he did, her left hand moved forward, and her body rotated, the long blade humming through the air before humming at the impact of the shorter-bladed lightsaber, forming a bar parallel to the floor, above her head. Instantly, she reacted with a thrust of Force from her right hand as it came forward, striking him in the chest firmly enough to throw him backward, reclaiming a certain distance between them. As he landed, he lunged forward across the floor, and just as she recognized his Falling Leaf technique, N’Lola recognized the technique often called the Hawk-Bat Swoop. While he approached with incredible swiftness, she turned her body once more, evading the thrust and rotating around his inertia, striking him across the back with the blade and leaving what she had taken to calling a training burn.

                Waldo stumbled forward a step as N’Lola swiveled to a stop, resuming a defensive posture as he whipped to face her with a rapid succession of thrusts. These, as well, N’Lola deflected expertly, though his Ataru was far better than Radox’s, and she was certain that he could’ve defeated Darth Radox just as easily if the need had arisen to do so. Even as she became accustomed to the narrow deflection of protecting against thrusts, Waldo switched to a succession of slashes coming in from every direction. His eyes widened in surprise as she brought her saber-hand forward, then twisted the grip ahead of her, blade humming as a blur of dim grey with a light grey core as it moved to block each of his slashes in succession. As he switched his target to the hilt itself, she rotated the grip again and allowed the hilt to slide faintly through her palm before clenching near the base, blocking with the hilt, itself. He blinked in surprise, and she smiled faintly in answer.

                “My lightsaber hilts are made of beskar. The hilt itself can provide as much defense as the saber-blade itself.”

                “Clever decision; perhaps the Order should have similar selectivity about the materials used in lightsabers,” he replied, before leaping backward as she went for a strike of her own in the opening his response had provided her. Her lightsaber hummed through empty air where he would have been still standing a moment earlier, as he landed a couple metres out of her reach, then bounded back in. As he swept in toward an exposed forward flank, she used the Force to perform a sideward flip, landing on his right-hand-side as he came forward with a powerful thrust where her lower ribs had been. It would’ve successfully pushed her back roughly two metres and left a significant training burn on her stomach between the lowest of her ribs, had she been a second or two slower.

                “Your swiftness is impressive,” she said as he glanced up and to his right in time to see her sweeping a foot across, and performed a quick forward somersault that let her sweep pass under him harmlessly. As he landed, he spun and slashed anew, the air filling again with the loud hum as his blade hit hers, her left hand upraised and the blade of it a vertical line descending toward the floor.

                “As is yours,” he replied, “and your maintained calm is… remarkable, and inspiring.” As he spoke, he rotated his wrist and slashed from a new direction, bringing his free hand forward to use a potent thrust of Force as she used her lightsaber to block his own. He bolted forward as she swept backward through the air from his push, almost quick enough to be a blur of forward motion, managing to slice quickly enough to strike her across the left side of her left calf as she manoeuvred. Even as she rotated in the air, he corrected the trajectory of his training lightsaber fast enough to make a grazing impact on her calf, creating a faint training burn. She twisted abruptly in the air away from the hit, rotating her body in a tight spin while simultaneously flipping in the air to make a spinning landing behind him, body dropping into a braced crouch with one leg extended. Her extended leg caught his legs in the sweep, knocking both of them from underneath him and dropping him onto his back, even as her spin continued. N’Lola continued her rotation as she rose to a standing position and brought her training lightsaber in a sweep that struck him on the side of the neck, pushing hard enough to make him slide a metre and a half across the floor with a dark training burn.

                “You integrate Ataru seamlessly,” Waldo said as his legs rose in a looping sweep that used physical inertia to throw himself from the ground and back onto his feet. Even as he returned to a standing position N’Lola launched herself forward in a nearly lightning-quick acceleration, sweeping past behind him and striking him on the right side of his lower torso with her training saber. The force of impact threw him four metres sideward through the air before he was able to use his own mastery of the Force to rotate himself to face her and slow himself to a stop with his feet on the floor. Even as he slowed to a halt, she surged forward once more, having switched smoothly from Soresu into Ataru, coming at him with the same Hawk-Bat Swoop he had used at the start of their training session. Her speed was just the faintest bit superior to his own, however, and her training lightsaber struck him on the lower forearm, roughly four centimetres above the wrist, and knocked his blade out of the way. She continued the traditional combination of moves with the same Saber Swarm he had used, a high-velocity series of thrusts where she remained a half-second to a full second ahead of his defensive reactions. Each thrust left a circular training burn on him between his waistline and his neckline, pushing him back a half-step at a time until he made a powerful leap backward and away from her, following the seventh burning strike.

                “I yield! Your speed is incredible, but I feel as if I learned much from this session,” Waldo said at last, voice revealing he was more than slightly impressed by her swordplay, “I have met few who are nimble and adroit with the long-handled lightsaber, and none quite so skilled as yourself. In part, I suspect that this is because the Jedi rarely use the weapon, perceiving it more a tool of offense than defense; I shall have to report otherwise.”

                “You are an impressive swordsman, yourself, Master Mellison. It is clear to me that you have mastered both the Third Form and the Fourth, nearly to my equal, and I have no doubt you could have defeated Darth Radox, yourself, were it to have been needed of you,” she replied confidently. He smiled politely in answer to the assurance, though he felt honoured by the praise of one who had lived her life developing her skills in lightsaber combat as a matter of pure survival, sometimes from one day to the next.

                “Thank you, Lady Marshal Vurkoth; that is kind of you to say. I am not certain I could have made it through all of his defenses with the same ease and efficiency as you and your forces, though,” he answered, to which she gave a moderate nod.

                “The simplest gesture of kindness can fill a galaxy with hope,” N’Lola replied, soliciting a blink from both the Jedi and his padawan, alike.

                “You know the sayings of the Jedi?” asked Waldo, yet further amazed.

                “It is said that it is wise to know one’s enemies. It is also wise to know one’s friends,” she replied pleasantly, lips of dark orchid curved in a sincere and amiable smile, “It would have been far too perilous, for a long time, for me to seek the companionship of a Jedi for friendship and pleasant conversation. I had only the option to study the ways of the Jedi, from which I learned many reassuring things; your dedication to justice, peace, and order, are admirable.”

                “It seems you have a lead on us, in this matter of mutual learning, my Lady,” replied Waldo after a few brief moments of consideration, “Though on behalf of the Jedi, I am glad that you like what you have already learned. I am sure that I can speak on my Order’s behalf in saying that what we have learned of yours today, is likewise satisfactory, if not more than.”

                “I am gratified by that sentiment,” N’Lola replied, “I sense that I will need my rest for tomorrow, however, and I sense that you and your padawan came to the training hall for another purpose. Farewell.”

                “Farewell, Lady Marshal,” said Norman politely, as Waldo nodded courteously in response, himself. As she changed into her normal garments, they set to their own practice as the Jedi Master, whom she would classify as well above mere adequacy with the lightsaber, worked to instruct his padawan.

 

                On the following morning, they received a hail from Nel Marellius on the planet.

                “My Lady Marshal of the Ven-Shimu,” began Nel semi-formally, “On behalf of the Taphar people, I extend the welcome of our world. However, you would be wise to…” She paused as the ground shook beneath her, that being clearly visible through the visual hailing frequency that had been opened. The planet rumbled loudly underfoot and it shook more than noticeably for several moments, though fortunately it seemed as if the facility itself was built with a mind to stability amidst times describable as seismically active.

                “However,” continued Nel Marellius, “you would be wise to resist any enticement to land your vessel on the surface, in consideration of the current seismic commotion.”

                “Is such activity common on your world?”

                “It unfortunately is, my Lady. Our planet is rich in volcanic and seismic activity, albeit most of this is far less threatening to our way of life than our most current scans have indicated,” Nel continued.

                “That sounds quite dire. If I might inquire?” said N’Lola in answer.

                “Have you heard of the volcanological term ‘super-volcano,’ before?”

                “No, sorry,” N’Lola replied apologetically, shoulders rising briefly.

                “All right, I shall explain in brief, then. Every volcano produces a large volume of not only lava rising out of the molten mantle, but also clouds of ash, smoke, and dust. Yet, it does not threaten the continuance of all life on our planet: a super-volcano, however, is an uncommonly enormous volcano. When a super-volcano erupts, it produces an amount of ash, dust, and smoke, which is sufficient to wreath the whole world in a shroud of grey-white-brown, thick enough to block out all sunlight. This cloud can take anywhere from five to twenty years to dissipate completely, and in that time, our world dies in a time of endless shadow. Our species has been fortunate, however, in that we have not suffered a direct loss from these events, until recent times. One of our super-volcanoes erupted a bit more than three thousand six hundred years ago, and now, another of them is about to erupt.”

                “About to erupt?” questioned N’Lola, “Could whatever saved your civilization in the last event, potentially be repeated?”

                “Our understanding of volcanology and seismology are extremely advanced compared to that of most worlds in the galaxy, because of the level of activity of our earthquakes and eruptions. The super-volcano is going to start to erupt in three hundred and sixteen hours, twenty-seven minutes and forty-eight seconds,” Nel Marellius replied, “As for a possible repeat, that seems… unlikely. When the super-volcano Votarius wreathed our world in a cloud of smoke, dust, and ash, we were visited by an extraordinary and Force-sensitive stranger and her lover, who was likewise Force-sensitive. Their names are lost amidst our histories, but what is not lost is who they were as individuals, and what they were as individuals, and the salvation they brought to Taphar civilization.”

                “These individuals sound incredible,” said Master Mellison, standing off to one side of N’Lola’s admiral seat on the bridge, his padawan behind and to one side of him, “I am Waldo Mellison of the Jedi Order. Could you tell us, perhaps, anything more about these two who saved your world?” As the Jedi Master indicated that he had come from the Jedi Order, Nel Marellius stared at him for a moment in disbelief, but then quickly recovered and nodded her head in answer to his inquiry.

                “The stranger’s lover was a Jedi,” said Nel Marellius, soliciting a surprised blink from Waldo and a slightly upraised eyebrow from N’Lola, “The stranger herself, was not of the Jedi Order. We know little of the Jedi Order, but what we know of your Order and what we know of the stranger and her lifelong mate, tells us that their story must be extraordinary.”

                “Please, would you be willing to share with us more on this matter?”

                “Master Mellison, let us not be distracted by the marvel we may feel at such an unexpected discovery, so to the point that we forget the peril Taph faces,” N’Lola said, to which Waldo nodded.

                “Ah, yes. Apologies, Lady Marellius, sometimes I am carried off by my fascination with lore,” said Waldo, to which Nel smiled warmly.

                “It is more than understandable, Master Mellison, and the sincerity of your curiosity for our history and our culture is delightful to discover. Please, come to the surface, and we will share more of our history and our culture, as well as our understanding of the circumstances our world now faces. I shall arrange for you to be met by an archivist and one of our chief volcanologists.”

                When they arrived on the planet, they were immediately greeted by a man and a woman, the man standing at five feet ten inches in height, the woman slightly taller at five feet eleven inches. Each had a healthy physique, as well as the same pale lime-green complexion and the same set of plates growing out of each side of their head, though their eyes were different colours. The man had eyes of pale blue, and the woman had irises of pastel brown, but each wore a similar outfit that demonstrated their government employment. A white cotton shirt that buttoned up the front with a pair of black wool pants, and a half-sleeved coat of the same black woolen fabric, accented by a black leather belt and ankle-high boots with a durasteel buckle.

                “Hello, I am Tyr Mott,” said the man, “Tier-7 Volcanologist, from the Planetary Institute of Volcanological Examination and Research. Welcome to our world.”

                “My name’s Sel Treau,” said the woman, “Tier-8 Archivist, of the Historical Archiving and Recordkeeping Association. It is a pleasure to meet strangers who have an interest in our people, our culture, and our history.”

                “A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Tyr, Sel,” N’Lola replied, “I am N’Lola Vurkoth of the Ven-Shimu Order.”

                “I am Waldo Mellison of the Jedi Order, and this is my padawan, Norman Maenner,” said the Jedi Master in self-introduction, his padawan nodding politely when he was introduced, as well.

                “If there is no special urgency, I would love to know more about the mysterious strangers who visited your planet the last time it was threatened by volcanic activity.”

                “Of course,” said Tyr, “there is no immediate need to rush to the volcanic concerns. There is enough time for us to speak of other things before we speak of the volcano. Our visitors from long ago were able to save us, our planet, from the eruption even after it had happened, and perhaps you would be able to do so, as well.” Sel then proceeded to lead them to a large library that had H.A.R.A. on the front of the building, roughly ten metres above the entrance. She walked with them until they reached a partially enclosed alcove, where there was a table in the centre of several chairs, and shelves on the walls.

                Sel walked to one of the shelves, stepping sideward and running her fingers over one datacron then the next, until she found the correct one. She moved to the table and placed it into a small square indentation into the tabletop, the six-inch cube set two inches deep into the tabletop as she activated it. Instantly, multicoloured, holographic images were emitted into the air, which showed two women that none of them could have put a name on.

                “These are our rescuers,” Sel said. Each one was imaged at their full height, one standing six feet in height, the other five feet eleven inches, clothed in white cotton in the form of a hooded greatcoat, long-sleeved shirt, ankle-length breeches, and wrist-length gloves. The ensemble was accented by a white leather belt with a durasteel buckle, and matching boots of calf-height, each armed with activated weapons. One was a lovely human woman with a pale complexion, seal brown hair and irises, and Waldo’s eyes narrowed as if he felt as if he recognized the young woman. The other was…

                “That isn’t possible…”

                The second woman was unmistakable in species: she was a member of the Sith, with light orange complexion and ridges on her face that enhanced her features, though she had none of the horn-growths that were more common amidst members of her species. Her human companion carried a double-bladed green lightsaber, while the Sith herself was armed with two single-bladed lightsabers, having an identical shade of green colouration to the blade of each one.

                “Our historians at the time, or at least the ones that these two women interacted with, were only Tier-3, and they failed to record the names of our saviours. However, we may not know their names, but we know who they were, or who they once had been. One was a member of the Jedi Order, the other was a Light Sith who infiltrated the Sith Empire deeply, who become as one when they met, when their purposes converged. The Sith led, the Human followed, and together, their power was magnificent,” Sel related.

                “Sith and Jedi, finding love amid all the reasons not to,” N’Lola observed, “It is already an impressive story of romance and love, by the sound of it. It is unfortunate your historians of the time were too caught up in the moment to remember to record it for the enjoyment of future generations.”

                “Indeed. It is rare to meet one who understands that as clearly as I,” Sel replied with a warm smile.

                “Do you know anything further about these two? Or anywhere we might seek further information?” came the question from the inquisitive Jedi Master that had been sent to serve as the Order’s Ambassador.

                “Alas, we know only this. We would cherish the opportunity to receive more information, but this is the only knowledge we have on these two wondrous individuals. However, as to your second question… there is a mention in this archive of a world called…” This was followed by a long pause, her eyes skimming data in front of her written in the Taph language, until she could locate the name. It took a few minutes before she looked up from her examination, the native tongue’s archaic dialect undoubtedly complex, N’Lola suspected, if Sel’s expression had been an indication.

                “… Korrellia,” said Sel at last, “and before you ask, no, not Corellia from near the galactic centre. This planet is named Korrellia, with a K and two r’s.”

                “Hmm, an interesting name. Thank you, when we leave here we will search for this place, this Korrellia, and hope that perhaps there we will find answers for both the Taphari and ourselves,” N’Lola replied, and Sel smiled anew at the statement.

                “You would return, and share with us what you learn?”

                “Of course, that is what friendship is about,” N’Lola replied, “and I would be honoured to be a friend to your people. We will do what we can on the matter of this volcano… I have an idea that might work, but I will bring it up with Doctor Mott, tomorrow, when we discuss all that can be told of the current threat.”

                Sel nodded, and soon led them to the Palace of the Parliament, where a Parliamentary Guardsman in turn led them to a pair of suites where they could take their rest. Once there, N’Lola took the time to bathe before retiring for a night’s rest, though that rest was four times interrupted by tremors from the impending eruption.

 

               

                When they met the next morning at the Planetary Institute for Volcanological Examination and Research, in a presentation room located on the fourth level, the first thing that stood out to N’Lola was a clock. A digital countdown that indicated that the eruption was calculated to occur in fewer than three hundred and four hours, though the doctor’s information could not be overlooked or bypassed. She would need to know about the target to know if her idea was a viable one, and she hoped they had the technology to make it happen.

                “Thank you again for coming, Lady Marshal,” the doctor greeted, and she nodded warmly before she took a seat, while the Jedi and his padawan did the same.

                “First, let’s examine the objective itself, before we start into any questions or such as that. This is Laurevoka, the ‘super-volcano,’ high up in the Tarlan Mountains,” Doctor Mott began.

                “Technically, the term super-volcano is scientifically unspecific and inaccurate, primarily used in speaking to the layperson who lacks a greater education in volcanological sciences,” interjected a woman of about nineteen who had a modestly curvaceous figure and eyes of deep blue-violet.

                “Hardly relevant at the moment, though. Lady Marshal, my assistant, Tala Noct,” the doctor said, before he resumed his briefing to her, “Elevation eight thousand metres, diameter two hundred metres in the chimney itself, chimney descends seventeen thousand metres to the mantle. Less than one kilometre west from Laurevoka, the Tarlan Mountains drop off into the Sundrin Trench, depth seven thousand metres. For more than three thousand years, we’ve been deliberating and the parliament has been proposing potential solutions which they then debate and discuss utterly to death before failing to decide to authorize any solution no matter how feasible. I would welcome your ideas, though you are not educated in volcanology; our previous saviours were not volcanologists, either, and we know better than to dismiss an idea because it comes from someone outside the institute.”

                “I believe I have a solution, though it would require a dangerous mission into the trench and ordinance which I do not presently have on my ship. Have you heard of cryo-grenades?”

                “Yes. They were used during the Galactic War between the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic, were they not?”

                “Indeed, though they have never faded from use in the interim, at least not amongst certain groups. I cannot say with a certitude whether the New Republic’s troopers and commandoes are equipped with them or not, but I know that cryo-grenades are still in manufacture. My idea would call for something along the same order, although far larger in scale: I would require a full-scale tactical bombardment of Laurevoka with shielded cryo-missiles, able to reach to a preprogrammed depth before detonation and able to have a timed, synchronous detonation assigned to them.” Even as she spoke, she could see the gears of the doctor’s mind rotating as he considered it, imagined it, and soon followed the thought she had had on the matter.

                “One part of your plan is to permanently terminate the activity in the megacaldera, not just at the surface, but clear down to the mantle,” Tyr replied, and N’Lola nodded.

                “Yes. Albeit, that will be the easy part and is only half of the solution. Naturally, the amount of pressure and the amount of natural molten release cannot be cancelled out, but it can be redirected. If at the same time as the cryo-missiles are being launched, shielded to preclude premature detonations, some other section of the mantle in extreme proximity to Laurevoka, were to be critically weakened…”

                “… the resultant geological transformation induced by those two coincident events, could trigger a minor but vital shift in the magma currents within the upper mantle. The pressure is universal throughout the crust, but it builds up under the weakest sections of the mantle. If we could reinforce one section of the mantle while weakening another close enough to the sector being reinforced, the resultant shift in pressure could successfully produce a controlled and safe volcanic emergence.”

                “Exactly, but there is only one place where that controlled repositioning could be applied safely,” continued N’Lola, “It is important that this solution not be a stopgap. It should be something that would prevent future calamity, ensuring that the next eruption of this megacaldera is likewise unthreatening to the Taphari, and the one after that, and so forth. There is only one place that fits that descriptor: here.” She moved to indicate the deepest part of the trench, a depth of nearly twenty-three thousand feet, more than four miles below the surface. It wasn’t the planet’s deepest of all trenches, in all likelihood, but it was deep enough to support the plan to vent magma into it without killing anything in the process.

                “The depth involved in such a target is extreme. We have nothing that can go that deep underwater.”

                “I do,” N’Lola said in answer to the doctor’s concern, “My shuttle has advanced engineering and can sustain transit to such a depth. I will return to my ship and have it prepared for the task, and I will wait for a Taph cruiser with sufficient bombardment capacity to coordinate with.”

                “Thank you, Lady Marshal. May the Force be with you, for the sake of my people,” Tyr replied, and then bid them farewell, as they moved to return to the landing-zone. As they boarded the shuttle less than an hour later, N’Lola moved to the pilot’s seat and the Aka’jor rose from the landing site.

                “That will be an extremely dangerous task, Lady Marshal,” said Waldo abruptly, as she piloted them up into the stratosphere, approaching the vacuum of space to return to her ship.

                “A necessary peril, Master Mellison, one life is worth less than the lives of all who dwell on an entire world.”

                “You would have made a magnificent Jedi, Lady Marshal Vurkoth.”

                “I appreciate your praise, Master Mellison, though I think you are mistaken, there. My methods and ideology are too different from those of your Order, for all that we share the same aspirations, we approach them by two different paths,” N’Lola replied, and Waldo nodded serenely in answer.

                “This is true. Your Order, I think, shall make for mine a fine ally and perhaps, a solution to one of our oldest quandaries.”

                “Quandaries, you say?”

                “For thousands of years, my Order has attempted to advocate passivity and tranquility to some of the galaxy’s most violent sentient species, my own Human species amid the foremost thereof. For thousands of years, members of our Order have fallen to the dark side as a result of their combative natures and my Order’s incompatibility with those individuals so dedicated to the life of the warrior.”

                “Whereas the Ven-Shimu teaches our newcomers to channel their violent impulses, their combative desires, their prowess in battle, in furtherance of similar ideals,” N’Lola concluded for him, and the Jedi Master offered a nod in answer.

                “Exactly my thought, if perhaps your Order would not mind to receive some of those who are unable to take a more peaceful approach,” Waldo continued, and N’Lola shook her head as she piloted her Aka’jor into the hangar of the Explorer.

                “Far be it from the Ven-Shimu Order to refuse the offer of… transfer students, as it were,” N’Lola replied.

                “Excellent. Of course, it will still need to be discussed and supported by the Jedi Council, but armed with the knowledge of your receptivity to the idea, perhaps it will have a greater chance of approval. I will take my leave now, my padawan has lessons that cannot be overlooked, and you have a perilous task to prepare yourself for, from which I would not distract you.” As the ship landed, he excused himself and with his padawan he departed, leaving N’Lola to instruct her engineers in what she would need for the mission.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this story and think you might enjoy reading more of my writing, please consider checking out the published writings on sale in Barnes & Noble's Nook market. I have published 3 novels so far, in the Hellenic/Greek mythological fantasy genre, though they contain no graphic erotic content. The protagonist is a blind, bisexual son of Apollo, and the stories are set just before the rise of Alexander the Great; if this sounds like something you would enjoy, please click below:
> 
> [Of Emeralds and Gold, Part One](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/of-emeralds-and-gold-part-one-ophelia-alexiou/1120962746?ean=2940151484145)   
>  [Of Emeralds and Gold, Part Two](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/of-emeralds-and-gold-part-two-ophelia-alexiou/1120962748?ean=2940151572019)   
>  [For Glory and Honour](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/for-glory-and-honour-ophelia-alexiou/1120962753?ean=2940149998401)


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